


To Live and Lie in Los Santos

by Ember_The_Firetame



Category: Grand Theft Auto Series (Video Games), Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Anger, Betrayal, F/M, Family, Family Drama, Forgiveness, Friendship, Gen, Loss, Love, Loyalty, Mental Health Issues, Murder, Psychology, Resentment, Sex, To Live and Die in Los Santos, Understanding, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:35:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 53
Words: 69,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25316167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ember_The_Firetame/pseuds/Ember_The_Firetame
Summary: "My name is Phoenix Mare. I was there for the depot robbing-gone-wrong in Ludendorff. I was also present for everything from the Vangelico robbery to the Union Depository. Yup, that UD. The 'big one'. I know Michael Townley- er, De Santa, Trevor Phillips, Brad Snider, Franklin Clinton, Lester Crest- the whole lot of them. If I’m ever murdered or double-crossed, let this be my testament to royally fuck them all.""To Live and Lie in Los Santos" explores our boys from psychological, sociological, platonic, and romantic viewpoints, hopefully without removing the authenticity of characters. There will be romance, but the bigger question to be answered is not "Who does Phoenix end up with?" but, "Why the fuck do these guys do what they do the way they do it?" I promise there will be plenty of action *wink*, but it won't be THE defining feature of the text. Phoenix gets some cool development as a present figure, too; she battles with her subconscious throughout the story as her traumas from a life of criminality are also highlighted.
Relationships: Franklin Clinton/Michael De Santa, Franklin Clinton/Original Female Character(s), Franklin Clinton/Reader, Franklin Clinton/Trevor Philips, Franklin Clinton/You, Michael De Santa & Reader, Michael De Santa/Original Character(s), Michael De Santa/Original Female Character(s), Michael De Santa/Trevor Philips, Michael De Santa/You, Trevor Philips/Original Character(s), Trevor Philips/Original Female Character(s), Trevor Philips/Reader, Trevor Philips/You
Comments: 74
Kudos: 72





	1. Through the Window

**Prologue: “The Window…”  
**_Ludendorff, North Yankton, 2004_** **

**__**

I remember the woman falling hard against the pavement, a sharp cry for help escaping her lips. I looked over through the slight fog of my tinted goggles; my chubby accomplice, donning a red beanie and tan coat, forcing that poor woman to stare at her potential killer. Brad always had to be a dick about things, pushing and shoving innocent people without remorse. We weren’t there to hurt people. We were there for a score, a simple grab-and-go. 

**__**

North Yankton was cold this time of year. I remember shivering despite being covered head to toe. I wore all black; looking back on it, it almost feels like foreshadowing. Some of that “death of my innocence and past life as I once knew it” bullshit an English teacher would spin on you while you pretended to read _To Kill a Morningwood_ in the 10th grade.  


I remember looking over to my best friend. He wasn’t the most… enthusiastic of score-preppers, so it fell onto me to get everybody some disposable clothing. So, I lifted his red flannel and hunter green ski mask from the Ammu-Nation store in L-dorff. If I had known that those would be the last things I ever saw him in… _Don’t get emotional, Phi. Just tell the damn story._ Ok. We exchanged a knowing look, and he broke apart our gaze to reaffirm that nobody had to get hurt if they just did what we asked.  


**__**

__

**__**

And I remember looking at the last set of eyes; my third accomplice. His fierce brown eyes fell into a wink before turning around to threaten the bank tellers… something like, “you’ll get worse than hurt!” Much like Brad, he was unnecessarily aggressive, but this time, it got a chuckle from me. That man just had a certain nuance in persuasion… _Yeah, yeah, yeah. They get it. Move on._ Fine. He kicked down the door, and we followed suit.  


**__**

__

**__**

The next things I remember… man, my memory is going. _They don’t give a shit, Phi. Tell. The story._ Ok, ok! Bang bang, bag secured. Almost 200 big, beautiful stacks. We crept through halls of red… no wonder I had anxiety. Science proves that red is the color of anxiety. _And blood, and violence, and all the other shit you’ve shed in your life. WE GET IT._ Ugh. Alright. The guard sprung out of nowhere, ripped Michael’s mask off, and made petty threats. T put him down in seconds. Fuck. I didn’t want anyone to die, but I wanted M to live more. It wouldn’t have mattered… _Shut up! Don’t ruin the story!_  


I grabbed M’s hand in reassurance as we ducked for cover. Brad set the charges for the door to freedom… and then we saw more cops than I could count on three hands. I remember T taking his mask off… that ugly mullet. I always told him to shave it, but he thought it would “get the bitches of North ‘Yank-me'”. Idiot. _You sure loved that idiot._ Yeah. Whatever.  


**__**

__

**__**

So much shooting. So much blood. So. Much. Blood. We shot our way through, what, 6 cop cars before we got to our getaway? I slammed in between T and Brad. We reeked of copper and sweat. Brad immediately started bragging, his blonde hair dripping perspiration on my face. Ick. T shut him up. I looked at him, and he smiled at me with just the slightest tinge of fear in his eyes. I patted his thigh, and he held onto my gloved hand for just a second. We were safe. _Yeah… Safe. Huh._ Shut up. Yeah, no, we were far from safe. Shit really hit the fan then.  


**__**

“We gotta beat the train!” someone said. Well… we didn’t. We clipped it and spun out. I was so, so nauseous. T wanted to divert from the original route. But M wanted to stick to the plan, and in his agitated state, I did not want to go against him. Besides, friends- or accomplices, whatever the hell we were- stick it out together.  


**__**

The chopper wasn’t there. Instead, we were met with a bullet to Brad’s chest. Then M. T looked at me with a panic I’ve never seen in that sociopath’s eyes. This was it.  


**__**

“T, Phi, you gotta get outta here!” M cried out. I met his ocean eyes once more, and, tears filling mine, I pulled away.  


**__**

“I’m not gonna leave you, Mikey!” T said in desperation. I remember the sirens blaring in a deafening crescendo. I remember my clip jamming. I remember the last long, desperate look T gave me before he threw me into the chopper when it finally fuckin’ got there; as I ascended, I stared through the cockpit window as he charged through the hayfield, disappearing into that thick, winter fog… He saved me. And I didn’t know if he made it out… Would I ever?  


_Alright, drama queen. Enough exposition. Let’s move on._  


**__**

__

**__**

My name is Phoenix Mare. I was there for the depot robbing-gone-wrong in Ludendorff. I was also present for everything from the Vangelico robbery to the Union Depository. Yup, that UD. The “big one”. I know Michael Townley- er, De Santa, Trevor Phillips, Brad Snider, Franklin Clinton, Lester Crest- the whole lot of them. If I’m ever murdered or double-crossed, let this be my testament to royally fuck them all. 

**__**

__

**__**


	2. Whiskey and Redwoods, Part One

**Los Santos, San Andreas, 2013**   
_Nine years later…_

My alarm goes off. 7:00 AM. Fuck. Do I hit snooze? _No. You cannot be late for this appointment again._ You’re right. My phone light strains my eyes as I check my Bleeter. Nothing of import. Stocks, Lifeinvader, the usual… I finally roll out of bed after a few minutes of mindless scrolling. I stroll into the bathroom, peering at my reflection in the mirror. As I inspect the endless tangle of red curls that exist as its own entity on my head, I let my gaze fall on the collective of hairline fractures within the glass. That was from coming home after a night out; I was so drunk, my fist barely connected with the glass because I could barely see. I don’t like the person I am when I drink. It used to be fun, just sitting around with my friends, celebrating after a big score, getting fucked on Pibwassers… but that was a lifetime ago, and I’m not that person anymore. Death really changes a person. _Okay, depressing much?_

Sorry. I have to look functional today, as I’m going out in public. I apply my winged eyeliner, mascara, and conceal a few dark areas on my otherwise sandy skin. No amount of makeup can mask the look of dread on my face. _Chill._ You know how people have resting bitch face? Mine is more like resting depression face. _My god, you’re ridiculous._ I know. It’s true, regardless. I inspect the long, thick scar I have on my right temple. It starts at my forehead, and cuts diagonally to my ear. I know I could easily cover it up with makeup, but it’s kind of part of me now. If I look at pictures of myself without it, I barely recognize myself. I guess it’s a reminder of the good old days. God, I sound like such a cliché. _You got that right. Old wash up._ Shut up. My stomach grumbles, and I scan my kitchen for some food. There’s really nothing. I haven’t gone shopping in weeks; house upkeep doesn’t really matter to me. There are more important things to tend to. Eh, I guess I don’t need breakfast. I hop into my car and take off. 

… 

I pull up to the all-too-familiar bungalow, playing my usual game of seeing how close I can creep up to the house before one of the five security cameras alerts the man living inside. My phone beeps. _On time for once,_ it reads. I chuckle. Idiot. I look up to see a large man in a checkered green shirt and suspenders approaching my car. His thick square frames cover his beady blue eyes, and a small smirk nests above his jowls. 

“Lester Crest,” I say as he tosses his cane through the door, into the backseat. “Lovely morning, innit?” 

“Hey, Phoenix,” says Lester, struggling into the seat. Poor guy. Tuberculosis really did a number on this guy; he’s been wasting away for as long as I’ve known him, and seeing him confined to limited mobility is sad. The guy and I have been through so much together; he’s had my back since Ludendorff, and when he realized I was alive, we had to trust the other would never rat out to the police. I don’t know if he considers us “friends”, but now that we’re known associates, we protect each other. 

Anyway, driving agitates his hives, so we’ve set up a weekly routine where I take him to his appointments. This is pretty much the only important thing to me. I work to take care of myself and Lester, and that’s my way of holding onto the past. What the sad shrew I’ve become. Jesus Christ, Phoenix, can you STOP with the pity party? Sorry, sorry. I know I’m getting old, but the routine I’ve fallen into has just become… I don’t know. Depressing? Have I used that word enough? 

… 

After his appointment, I drop Lester off at his house before I set off to grab his grocery pickup. As I stop on the street, I see his door is slightly ajar. That is NOT normal; Lester’s house is tricked out with cameras, warnings, alarms, anything to maintain the privacy he’s been holding onto by a thread these past nine years. Les will do just about anything to cling onto the life we’ve established in Los Santos; after relocation, he needed to stay as “under the radar” as possible, and he was very protective of security. I grab the pistol from my glove compartment, and slink over to the front door. I slip into the opening, careful not to let the door squeak. 

I tiptoe down the short hallway, and then barrel into Lester’s room. “LESTER!” I yell. 

“Calm the fuck down, Phoenix! What are you doing?!” Lester cries out. He’s sitting alone, at his desk, three monitors running through God-knows-whatever Les does in his spare time. 

“I saw your front door open. I got scared.” I said, flicking the safety on my gun and setting it down on his desk. 

“Nothing bad, Phoenix… but, you should know-” Lester’s voice cut off as my senses seemed to return to me. I smelled… something so overly-masculine, so familiar, so… 

“I know that smell from anywhere. Whiskey and Redwoods. Who’s been in here?” I turned around, too quickly, and I’m caught by a pair of strong arms. My eyes trail upwards, taking in the olive-green jacket, to the pale neck, and into those piercing blue eyes I thought closed long ago. 

“M-Michael?” I stutter. “Michael Townley?”


	3. Whiskey and Redwoods, Part Two

**_Los Santos, San Andreas, 2013_ **

“M-Michael?” I stutter. “Michael Townley?”

And I’ll be god damned, it was. A ghost, looking right back at me. But it wasn’t a ghost. It was the real deal… alive, and well. Kinda fat, but well. 

“Phoenix Mare. It’s actually Michael De Santa now… I didn’t, uh, I didn’t expect you to be here.” He smiled apologetically, still holding me in that embrace. I feel my jaw wide open. Could it really be? 

“Michael De what now?” was all I could muster before collapsing into him, breathing in his scent before bursting into tears. My best friend, my partner in crime… a man with whom I made a pact to protect each other with our lives, who I assumed to be dead… in the flesh. 

“Hey now, hey now, don’t cry. Come on, Phoenix. It’s okay. I’m okay. And so are you.” He releases himself from the hug, but is still holding me by the elbows. For a moment, I feel so overjoyed that my mind races with euphoria. My best friend is back! I could touch the sky right now! We have so much to do, so much to talk about, so much- _Um, he’s just HERE after a decade of hiding, and you’re not going to make him explain himself?_ My mind and body felt separate as I reached up and touched his prickly, bearded face, caressing his face. He smiles. In a split second, it disappears as I slap him in the face, _hard._

“Michael De Santa? Here in Los Santos? Where the fuck have you been? Why didn’t you tell me? Reach out to me years ago? And now you come and, what, ask Lester for a favor?” 

“I haven’t been a good friend for you, guys. I know that.” I roll my eyes. No shit. “I promise I’ll explain everything when the time comes. Right now, though, I need to make some dough. I need you.” I shudder at those words. I need you. 

**_Somewhere Shady in North Yankton, 2004_**

“Come on, Mare! I need you. You’re perfect for this. It’s no biggie… just a depot gig. It’ll be fun, we’ll make some cash, we’ll get away clean. Nothing to worry about.” Mikey explains. I roll my eyes. We’d already been under the radar, and now he wants to hold up the armored car depot in L-dorff. 

I look to Brad. His faces scrunches, as if he’s deep in thought. “Yeah, fuck it. Let’s do it. I’m in.” 

Michael looks at Trevor. He knows my weakness; I’ll go along with just about anything T wants. _Make it more obvious?_ I wait for Trevor to answer. He sees me, and shrugs. “I’m in if you are, sugartits. You’re part of the team. You know Uncle T will keep you safe.” I laugh. Trevor’s a softie under that psychotic, rough, sometimes-smelly exterior. I look back to Michael. He’s anticipating my answer, and he knows I’m too much of a pushover to say anything but- 

“Yes. Yes, then. Let’s do it.” I say. Michael smiles, as though he was expecting that answer. 

“Alright then. Let’s call Lester, and make it happen.” 

**_Los Santos, San Andreas, 2013_**

“And so comes the late, great Michael Townley out of retirement, out of death, and into the big, bad world of Los Santos crime?” I ask sarcastically. “What did you do? You obviously wouldn’t have made yourself known unless you had to.”


	4. Crones and Snakes

**_Los Santos, San Andreas_ **

A few days later, I find myself at Lester’s “totally legitimate business”, which is his shitty garment-factory-turned-heist-headquarters. Michael really fucking stepped in it by pissing off that Mexican gangster. So, we put our heads together and decided to skim the jewelry store on Portola Drive.

“I’ll help you so you’re not offed by some gangster, but I swear to God, Michael- we do this, and then we sit down and talk.” 

“I promise, Mare. On wherever the fuck my deadbeat dad’s grave is… I will explain everything to you.” 

Lester carefully crafts plans according to Michael’s “Loud Approach” decision, and we discuss accomplices. This is my area of expertise. I’ve come to know a lot of good people in LS- _Good?!_ Okay, good’s not the word. “Good for the job” people. I lay out his options. When we reach gunman, he traces his fingers over the photos. 

“I want you,” Michael states. “You were our sharpshooter back in the day.” 

“Yeah, well, things change,” I say definitively, “And that’s just not my scene anymore. I’ll play from the sidelines.” 

“What the fuck? You’re the best girl for the job, Mare. Come on.” 

“No, Michael. That’s my final answer.” 

I’m not lying. I haven’t shot a gun since Ludendorff. This isn’t the time to psychoanalyze my motives, but we’ll just say I’ve come to realize there’s nothing good to come out of handling a gun. _It wasn’t your fault._ I know I couldn’t help Michael back then. I couldn’t help Brad. _There’s nothing you could’ve done._ Maybe I could have, but I’ll never know. What I know from my time with Lester is that I can calculate risks, and help eliminate them so nobody has to take any to begin with. That’s my purpose. _Keep telling yourself that. And that was a little psychoanalytical._ Fuck off. 

The day of the score, I see there’s a younger guy I don’t recognize. He has smooth, dark skin, extremely toned arms, and a crew cut. His suit jacket fits him nicely, but his pants are a bit loose around the ankles. Michael sees my confusion and pulls me aside. 

“Frankie, come here, buddy- Franklin, this is Phoenix. She’s a great friend of mine, great friend, and we’ve pulled off a bunch of great scores together. Phoenix, this is Franklin. Met him under… strange circumstances, but I trust him, and you should too. I think this will open his door to greatness.” Michael goes on about the young man, who looks at me with an embarrassed smile. 

“Sure. Hey, Franklin. Good to meet you. Hopefully he can show you a thing or two, but don’t count on him to stick around forever.” I say with a hint of sarcasm, shaking his hand. Franklin looks confused, and Michael shoots me a dirty, wayward glance. 

“Don’t be like that, Phoenix. Come on. I told you I’d explain everything. Let’s get this job done, and I promise we’ll talk.” He pleads. I roll my eyes, and walk into the office so he can begin his spiel. _Give him a chance, girl. He needs it._ Not until he explains himself. 

Before he sets off, Michael looks at me one more time. “Still can’t believe you won’t come along,” he mumbles. “Franklin, this is the best woman for the job if you need a good gunman… gunwoman? Packie’s a Liberty City legend, don’t get me wrong- but Phoenix was pristine.” 

“I haven’t shot a gun in years, Mikey,” I claim. “About nine, give or take. Something about watching your friends bleed out from sniper wounds really gets to ya.” Franklin gives me a confused look, and Michael a defeated one, and I coax them out the door before I have to give an explanation. 

… 

“I think it’s done,” says Lester, eyes darting on his computers monitors. “Give Michael a call, see if he’s alright.” 

So I do. I’m more than relieved to hear a gruff voice on the other end. 

“Thanks for the welfare check, Mare. I’m alive and well.” 

“Nice work from me and Les. Wanna swing by my house before you lie low?” I ask cautiously. I really want to catch him before he fucks off for a while. 

“Sure thing. Send me your address.” 

A while later, Michael strolls through my door. He looks around my Vespucci condo, and I suddenly feel small. I haven’t cleaned in so long. I smile apologetically, and grab him a beer from the fridge as he throws clothes off the couch and sits down. 

“So… nice work today. Felt good to be back in action, huh?” I ask, tossing him a Pibwasser. He catches it, and takes a giant gulp before beginning. 

“Yeah, it felt great. Almost like a little piece of history re-presenting itself… are we just old crones living out our glory days again?” Michael laughs, taking another swig. I laugh, too. _Crazy minds think alike._ Whatever. 

“It really is good to see you again, Phoenix. I’ve missed you. It was hard being away from you.” Michael states. 

And just like that, I am brought down from the high of a successful score. “Michael… I shouldn’t have pushed you like that. If you’re not ready to talk about it, I can wait. It’s just- you have no idea what I’ve been feeling the past decade, and I-” 

Michael cuts me off. “It’s okay. We can talk about it, Phoenix… I owe you an explanation.” Typical Michael, always cutting me off when he feels like what he has to say is more important. He takes a deep breath. 

“To put it shortly and avoid too many details… I cut a deal with the FIB. They save my life, seal up my record, and I work a couple favors for them. Dave Norton, real good guy, he relocated me and Amanda and the kids… You understand? I had a young family to look out for, Phoenix. I had to. Please believe me. I never wanted to hurt or abandon anybody.” 

I’m pretty sure I needed a janitor to clean my mouth up from the floor. “I’m sorry, the FEDS?! You worked with the federal government. And Dave- the guy that shot you? You fucking snake!” I hissed. My heart started pounding just then. I open the drawer on the table next to the couch, and pull out my meds. I pop a few pills and chase it with beer. 

“Come on now, that cannot be good for you. You a pill pusher now?” Michael asks, half-jokingly. 

“I’ve got a fucking condition, Michael, remember? And let’s not stray from our conversation. You left us all in the dust.” I slug the rest of my beer, and toss the can against the wall. I don’t believe this! He cuts a deal with the government, while everyone else is MIA and I’m rotting away in an empty apartment. 

“I never wanted to hurt anybody, Mare. I did it for my family, and I’ll never apologize for that.” Those words spit at me venomously. They’re not malicious, but it still hurts. _You know that’s reasonable. You know that’s fair. You would’ve done anything to protect them._

“I guess I understand, Michael. But Jesus Christ… you found Lester as soon as you needed him. You couldn’t have just called to see? Couldn’t have done the tiniest bit of digging? It wouldn’t have been hard to find me. It’s not like my name is exactly common.” I say dejectedly. “You could’ve found me if you really wanted to.” 

“It was the feds, Phoenix. No way could I drag you into any of the mess I made after North Yankton.” Something isn’t adding up. I know, but I’m exhausted. _Press him._ No. _He’s lying about something. Why hasn’t he mentioned Brad?_ I’m. Letting. It. Go. 

“Want another beer, you old crone?” I ask, standing up. _Ignorance is bliss, I guess._


	5. Laying Low?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Franklin is taking a motorcycle ride, and stops by Del Perro Pier to clear his head. Phoenix is taking a stroll by her house. The two meet and chat. Phoenix remains guarded about the events that transpired in Ludendorff, but opens up a little about her relationships with Michael and Trevor, and her story as a gun-woman. They bond over tracking down a guy who stole a tourist’s bike.

**_Los Santos, San Andreas_**  


It has been a few days since I last saw Michael or Franklin. Upon receiving my money, I carefully nestled it away into savings and reasonable stocks… and blew a good portion of it on some upgrades to the house, a shopping spree, and a new car. _What’s the best way to get caught?_ I know, I know. Blowing all my hard-earned cash as soon as I get it. I don’t care, though. I feel refreshed. I can’t say life hasn’t gotten significantly better since Michael and I have become reacquainted. There’s just… a spark I haven’t felt in a long time. I still feel as though there’s more to the story than he wants to admit, but I guess I’ll have to have patience on my side to hear it. 

I decide to take a stroll down to Del Perro Pier. There’s something about Vespucci that has always attracted me. Everybody who _lives_ in Los Santos is fake as fuck, but Vespucci is a touristy area. I like watching the innocent people walk by; real couples and real families, carelessly swimming at the beach, eating ice cream on the boardwalk, or riding the Ferris Whale on the pier. It’s different. It’s refreshing. _Everybody wants what they can’t have._

I’m on the boardwalk when I catch a familiar face in the crowds. Mikey’s buddy Franklin is sitting on a bench, apparently deep in thought as he looks out over the ocean. I walk over. 

“This seat taken?” I ask. He looks up abruptly, surprised to see me. He shakes his head, and I sit next to him. 

“Hey, Phoenix. What’s up?” Franklin asks. 

“Nothing much. I’m about a fifteen minute walk from here,” I say, pointing in the general direction of my house. “Just needed to, I don’t know…” I trail off. I’m not sure how to answer this. Of course I’m confused, angry, hurt, lost… but I barely know this guy. How much can I trust him with? 

“Clear yo head? I feel that. That’s why I’m here. Got on my bike and got the fuck out of Strawberry for a while.” Franklin’s eyebrows furrow in subtle frustration.  


“You get that way after a while, knowing Michael.” I chuckle, then stop and think. “How did you two come to know each other anyway?” 

“Yeah, uh… dude actually got me fired from my repo job.” Franklin smiles, amused. “But it's okay. I made more money on that jewelry store job than I had in years of workin’ for that asshole Simeon.” 

I nod understandingly. “It’s good money, man. Just be careful.” 

Franklin looks at me with confused eyes. I stifle a laugh; I forget how little Franklin knows, and his face is going to become permanently baffled with the number of times he gives Michael or me that look. 

“You be sayin’ that, but I don’t really understand why. What’s so bad about Michael? I know he said some shit went down a while back, and you’ve definitely said it, too. I need some details, girl!” 

I look down at my hands. “I don’t know, Franklin… you knew Michael first. He should be the one to tell you that story. It’s… complicated.” I say. 

He nods, like he’s not quite satisfied with the answer, but won’t push it. I feel guilty. If this kid sticks with us, he’s going to wish he’d never met us. We’re bad news, and he seems like a sweet guy. _It’s hard to open up, but don’t you think he deserves to know?_ I can’t just disclose that kind of information. It’s too heavy to bring up on a Wednesday morning when we barely know each other. There’s something trustworthy about Franklin, though. I feel different with him, like I don’t have to step on eggshells. _Maybe because he doesn’t know anything yet. You don’t know him, or his relationship with Michael. Michael could stab you in the back again, and Franklin could be there to twist the knife._ Fuck. 

“Michael and I, we’ve been running together for a long time. I met him over 10 years ago, for sure. I actually introduced him to Amanda, his wife… never thought they’d end up together, but here we are. Michael and I were accomplices on the surface level… but we ran deeper than that.” I see Franklin making a face. “We didn’t fuck, if that’s what you’re thinking! We’re just really good friends. You have to put a lot of faith in someone when you ride this kind of wave.” 

“So was it just the two of you?”  


“No, no way. As Michael said back before the jewelry store, I was pretty good with a gun. I think they just needed some estrogen in the group, to be honest.” Franklin laughs at this. It was strange being the only woman in a group of men, but it goes to show that crime can be pink-collar, too. “Anyway, there were five of us. Michael, Lester, and me, who you’ve already met… and then there was Trevor and Brad.”  


“Trevor and Brad… they alive?” Franklin asks carefully. A sharp pain flies across my belly. Are they?  


“I… I don’t know. I hope they are, but it’s not realistic. I-” I look over and see Franklin’s excitement. I realize I’m disclosing too much.  


“Sorry, Franklin. You should really talk to Michael about his. I’ve already said too much.” I say. He nods understandingly.  


“Shit, somebody better start tellin’ me something soon if I’m going to be trustin’ y’all with my life.” He says. I nod. I’m about to say something when I hear-  


“Somebody, HELP! That guy just stole my scooter!” A man, very obviously a tourist with his Kawaiian shirt and flip flops, looks distraught. I look at Franklin, and I can almost feel the twinkle in my eye.  


“Shall we help this poor tourist, Franklin? My car is over there. Show me those famous getaway driving skills.”  


“Well, shit, we had to have a bonding experience sometime.” Franklin laughs. We run to my Ocelot. I throw him my keys, and slink into the passenger seat. He revs the engine, and laughs excitedly.  


“Shit, this is one of the nicest cars I’ve ever been in. This yo jewelry store money hard at work?” He lets out a loud WOOP! as he puts the car into drive, and takes off after the scooter thief.  


It’s obviously quite easy to catch up to him, but we want to return the stolen vessel in good condition. Suddenly, Scooter Thief takes a sharp turn. So does Franklin. It almost felt like time slowed down as he took a 90° turn with total ease. Instead of following the next turn, however, Franklin takes an alley back out to the main road.  


“What are you doing?! You’re going to lose him!” I yelled.  


“Come on, Phoenix! Trust a brother!” Franklin exclaims, and takes a sharp left.  


I hold onto the support handle as Frank abruptly stops the car. I peer over, and the scooter is coming full speed at the now-blocked exit. He tries to stop in time, but stops so quickly he flies over the front of the scooter, and pummels headfirst into the gravel. I cringe at the sight. He’s gonna feel that tomorrow.  


We step out, and Franklin picks the guy up. I laugh my ass off as this guy is trying to make sense of what just happened.  


“You are certainly NOT a scooter brother, my friend.” I say. Franklin lets him go, and he runs off back down the alley, not before calling us psychopaths. I double over in laughter as Franklin picks up the scooter to return to our poor tourist friend.  


“Aight, I’m gonna return this to that poor son of a bitch, and I’ll see you soon, aight? Thanks for the fun time, Phoenix.”  


“Sure thing, Franklin. It was nice talking to you outside of work. Stay safe now.”


	6. Be Still My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phoenix comes home to a familiar face, and has a health scare.

**_Los Santos, San Andreas_ **

It’s been about a week since I saw Franklin. I’ve been lying low, expecting that Michael has been doing the same. I drive over to Lester’s to take him to his surgery when my phone beeps. 

_Phoenix- We g2 meet ASAP. Need your help. Bringing company. -M_

 _With Les. Be there in 20. Let yourself in. P_

Company? Why doesn’t he just say Franklin? _Maybe it’s not Franklin… or not *just* Franklin._ Who could he be bringing then? His FIB buddies? God, I don’t need any feds snooping around in my house when I’m not there. Shit. 

I open the door for Les to get out. “Let me know when the procedure’s done, man. I’ll be here to get you. I gotta meet Michael at the condo… wish me luck, too. God knows what he needs.” I say. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Thanks, Phoenix. See you in a few days.” Lester gets out and wobbles into the hospital. _Pick up your prescription._ Ah, fuck it. I can grab it later if Michael needs me now. I drive swiftly back to my apartment, to see a sleek black Tailgater sitting in my driveway. I park on the road, behind some dirty pickup. I walk through my door, and see Michael and Franklin talking. Michael stands up quickly. 

“Phoenix, hey.” Michael says. There’s nervousness in his voice, or an excitability. He wants to tell me something. _Is he in trouble again? Is he coming to gank you?_ Shut up. 

“Hey Mikey, Franklin.” 

“Sup?” Franklin asks gingerly. “Shit, nice place you got, Phoenix.” He looks around. I suddenly feel relieved that I spent the last few weeks taking care of the place, cleaning up dirty laundry, scrubbing the walls of blood splatter, and vacuuming up moth balls and food remnants. 

“Thanks, Frank. How are you, scooter brother?” I wink at him. He laughs. Michael looks confused, but happy we’re getting along. 

“I’m aight. It’s pretty nice to have money fo’ once. Got a new car, shit, I went clothes shopping for no reason. Ion even need clothes. Shit’s awesome.” Franklin said with an enthusiasm I haven’t heard before. _Shit, he’s really getting into this lifestyle. Hope he doesn’t die too early. He seems like a nice guy._ Fuck, I hope not. 

“That’s great, kid. I’m happy for you. I’ve been blowing through some of that cash the same way. Actually, the other day, I-” 

Suddenly, I hear a faint sound of the toilet flushing. What the fuck? _The Feds?!_

“Michael… who else is here?” I ask, eyes darting to him with suspicion. 

Townley- De Santa- whatever, scratches his head with a guilty look plagued across his face. He opens his mouth to explain right as I hear- 

“Long time, no see, sugartits.” 

That voice. That- that growling voice, so aggressive and staunch, but music to my ears. I close my eyes to drink in what I just heard. I don’t even turn around, because I already know who’s standing behind me. I brace myself for the 6’1” of the long-lost, semi-feral man I’m about to face. 

But even anticipating looking Trevor Philips in his neurotic eyes did not prepare my heart for actually seeing him. He was still as tall, strong, and handsome as ever. The sheer shock of seeing him, however, send my heart into overdrive. Fuck. I should have picked up that prescription. 

You see, I have pseudo-seizures. From a young age, whenever I endured heavy mental or emotional stress, it would send me into episodes. It is a rare condition, but it can certainly be fatal. I typically have it under control, but seeing Trevor overwhelms me to a point I can’t control my body. I have a medication for it, but I didn’t pick it up because I was waiting for Michael. I start seizing; my breathing feels slower, but my heart feels like it is going to pound out of my chest. My legs give out, and I collapse. Trevor swoops me up and lays me on my coach in one fluid motion, almost like he was expecting it. 

“What the fuck do we do?! I just saw her pop pills, but I can’t remember where!" I heard Michael yell. 

“Man, what the fuck is going on?!” Franklin asks wildly. 

“Just shut the fuck up for a second! Uncle T’s got the cure!” I hear a bottle rattle, and something forces its way down my throat, his finger lingering in my mouth a little too long. My heart rate slows down, and I stop shaking. I feel in control of my body again. 

“I- Where-” I attempt. 

Trevor is leaning over me, propping me up, concern in his eyes. There’s no malice or insanity in them, as there typically is- there’s a tinge of fear that takes me back to Ludendorff. He sets a bottle in my hands. I turn it over, and look at the label. 

**PHOENIX MARE- MILAZYDAM- USE AS NEEDED TO PREVENT SEIZURES. 05/20/2003**

“You- you just carry an expired bottle of my anti-seizure meds?” I ask, totally ignoring the fact that we have not said our hellos yet. 

“Yeah,” Trevor says sheepishly. “I know you need ‘em, and you’re pretty shit at getting them from the pharm, so I- I don’t know, I-” 

Suddenly, I hear insane laughing. It’s… Franklin? He’s laughing uncontrollably, leaning against the wall to steady himself as he catches his breath. 

“I’m sorry, what the fuck is so funny about a woman struggling to breathe, you asshole?” Trevor drops me back on the couch and stands up. There it is. His usual, over-the-top aggression. However, I’m wondering why he’s laughing so much, too. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Look, I’m sorry. Ain’t nothing against you, Phoenix. But this crazy motherfucker-” Trevor winces at that word. He hates that word. Mommy issues, or something. _Right._ “doesn’t give a fuck about nothing or nobody, but shows some kinda weird compassion I ain’t seen yet with you. It’s just-” He starts laughing again. And you know what? I can’t argue with that, either. I start giggling, too. Trevor looks at me as he helps me back to my feet. 

“You’re kind of right, Franklin. It’s pretty funny. At least, it would be if I was actually happy to see him.” I look over to Trevor, ready to face him this time. “So, Trevor Philips.” 

I get closer to him, tracing a finger along a pulsing vein in his arm. He shudders oh-so slightly at my touch, as if it’s something he’s been highly anticipating. I move my finger lightly along his dirty white tee, up to his neck and along the “CUT HERE” tattoo on his neck. That’s new. Finally, I’m in a familiar position. Cupping his cheek with my hand, his eyes begin softening. I know the effect I have on him. I can’t say I don’t enjoy using my good looks for my own benefit sometimes- it’s gotten me close to some powerful people, and made me some good money. Using it on Trevor, though- someone I know cares so, so deeply for me- it feels wrong, but I need answers. 

“Phoenix, come on. You guys can talk about his later. We gotta talk about something serious.” Michael warns me, but I don’t let off. I smile sweetly at Trevor, and he looks back at me with a loving intensity. _You can talk more about your fucking daddy issues later. This chapter is getting long._

“Frank, you might wanna step back, kid.” Michael said. 

“Why? Don’t tell me they gon’ kiss. I’ve seen enough weird shit these past few days.” Franklin said, chuckling. 

I reach back and tousle what’s left of his hair. Then, I grab it hard, and smash his head against the wall behind him. 

“YOU ASSHOLE! YOU’VE BEEN ALIVE THIS WHOLE TIME, TOO? WHAT IS WITH YOU PRICKS AND THE SECRECY?!” I say, hitting his head again. I wince as my fingers scrape against the wall, too, but I’m so overcome with rage that I can’t control myself. I hear “Oh, shit!” from Franklin, and he steps forward to break it up. Michael must have grabbed him, because I’m still attacking Trevor. 

Suddenly, he grabs my arm. “Enough.” His lip curls just enough to release that one word that stops me. 

“Enough. As sexy as your dominance is, babe, we need to talk. We need your help.”


	7. Bob Jobs and Nip Tucks, Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trevor and Phoenix prepare for the Merryweather Heist together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple Trevor-focused chapters coming next! It just happened how it did. Promise we'll have many a chapter with the other boys.

**_Vespucci Beach, Los Santos, San Andreas_ **

“What exactly are we doing? Who’s our poor victim this time?” I ask. Trevor grins that sadistic smile. 

“Merryweather. Paramilitary, private security, butt-fucking and anally-fisting the taxpayers and slave laborers one dollar at a time. Crooks and criminals, and that’s coming from me. We’re gonna take something. Big. They’re hiding it at the port my buddy Floyd works at.” 

I’m a little excited by this. Any way to stick it to the government. _Says a former government employee._ And if it’s Trevor’s idea, it’s going to be dangerous, exploitative, and wild. “What is it?!” 

“I, uh… I don’t know. But I know it’s important.” T says confidently. 

“How are we doing it?” 

“Steal a Cargobob, a Submarine, and attack from offshore. Mikey boy will fly, and I’ll take the sub. I go under to the testing site of whatever this thing is, steal it, and the heli will pick me up. Then, we fly it back to my personal airstrip back in Sandy Shores.” 

“How are we getting a fucking Cargobob?!” 

“Stealing it from Fort Zancudo. And, actually, that’s where you come in… I could use some back up breaking into a military base.” 

The brief silence that follows this is almost comical. Then, I start laughing. Hard. I’m suddenly keeled over laughing. 

“So, let me get this straight… You want me to help you break into a top-security military base and risk getting arrested or mercilessly killed, steal a tactical chopper from said military base, risk getting shot down and falling to my death, so we can steal something big from a security company who owns billions of dollars in contracts to our country?” 

Trevor looks at me hungrily. I don’t know if it’s for the adventure, or for me. I feel a blush creeping across my face. “You know you’re interested, Phi.” 

_Phi._

**_Some-fuckin-where in North Yankton, 2003_**

“Come on, where’s your sense of adventure?!” Trevor whines. 

“I’m not getting on that.” I say, pointing at the chopper in front of us. “For all I know, you’ll crash it and give us third degrees for fun.” 

T’s lip curls into a pout. “Please, Phi?! It’s been my dream to fly a beautiful woman in a stolen chopper. Please, please, please." 

_Phi._

“If I didn’t like you so much, I’d cut here-” I trace his neck with my manicured fingernail, and twist it up in his denim shirt. He looks at me with big eyes, eyebrow cocked. He entices me. _We get it, you wanna fuck. Move on._ “For calling me that.” 

Trevor jumps into the helicopter, and extends his arm out. I grab his hand, and he pulls me in. The wind from the blades sends my hair flying; Trevor uses both arms to pull the mass of red curls back, and keeps his hands lingering at the nape of my neck. He pulls my face in so our foreheads are touching. 

“Let’s fuck it up. What do you say, Phi?” 

**_Los Santos, San Andreas, 2013_**

“What do you say, Phi?” 

“I say you better never say I don’t have a sense of adventure ever again.” I smirk at him. His face lights up in devilish excitement. 

“That’s my girl. Let’s go get a Cargobob.”


	8. Bob Jobs and Nip Tucks, Part Two

**_The Base of Mount Josiah, Blaine County, San Andreas_ **

I get into Trevor’s Bodhi, the shitty red pickup I parked behind. He eyes my Ocelot, impressed.

“You’ve sure done well for yourself. How did you get into your savings after we were fucked in Ludendorff?” 

“I never tried. I just found some new jobs here.” I shrug. “Judging by the lack of ‘think-it-throughness’ of this score, I’m guessing you did not consult Lester about it. He’s around, too.” 

“Well, I’ll be god-damned. That fat nerd is still around? What’s he up to today? Getting his asshole bleached, or what?” T laughs. 

“Come on, Trevor. He’s not that bad. Lester and I have been taking care of each other when everyone else-” He cringes a bit. “Fucked off and left me to relocate.” 

“I saved your life. Don’t forget that.” 

“Yeah. You did. And I’ll always be grateful for that, Trevor. But you never made an effort to find me? There are probably a thousand Trevor Philips in San Andreas alone. How many ‘Phoenix Mares’ do you come across? I’m sensing a pattern here with you and MT.” _You’re being a little selfish right now. Be grateful he let you ride away while he ran into a fucking hayfield with cops on his ass._ That may be true, but I still feel scorned right now. 

“Don’t do that, Phi.” Trevor snarls. “Don’t you start there with me. Don’t pretend you know what I’ve been through the last nine years. I had to make new friends, start from nothing, live a whole new life. Saving _you_ -” He says this a little crassly, and I feel my blood boil. “-meant sacrificing any sort of independence and wealth I had.” 

“You know, typical fucking Trevor. I see right through that manipulative façade. You made the choice to save me. And I will always be grateful for that. But you can’t act like you didn’t do it on your own volition.” 

“That’s what you fuckin’ DO to me, Phi!” Trevor yells. I look at him. What does he mean by that? He stutters. “I’d never do that bullshit for anyone else but you and Mikey and Brad!” _There it is. Friend-zoned._ Can’t get friend-zoned if I don’t have expectations. 

“Whatever, Trevor. Let’s not talk about this right now.” I leaned back and stared out at the rolling hills and gravel roads. 

“Fine. Later. You look… good.” He says, taking his eyes off the road to do a one-over on me. From my ginger tresses, to my long legs donning short denims, to my lace-up black boots, he took the whole sight of me in with a lasting look. I feel redness creeping across my face, so I look back out the window. “So, uh… you get your tits done? Lil’ nip tuck?” 

I abruptly look back at him. “Excuse me?” 

“Come on, that was innocent. What woman doesn’t actually like being complimented? I didn’t mean it in a ‘I want to take advantage of you’ sort of way. It was a ‘I’ve missed my dear friend with whom I share a criminal history and seemingly-forbidden sexual chemistry’ sort of way. I just meant your tits look good. Honest conversation.” 

“You don’t just ASK people if they’ve gotten plastic surgery, Trevor! And… no! I haven’t gotten my tits done!” I am a little too defensive in this comment. I don’t know if he means to demean women, or if he takes pleasure in it, but he just says the… _damndest? Dumbest? Most delusional things?_ Yeah. Pretty much. He also just has a terrible way of flirting. 

It’s a quiet ride the rest of the way to Fort Zancudo. We, uh, “switch cars” along the way, and leave Trevor’s hidden in a field on the way up. _Nice way to say you left a man unconscious and stole his car._ ANYWAY, when we get on the road leading into the fort, Trevor breaks the silence. 

“It’s gonna be tough from here on out, Phi. You ready to rumble?” 

“I’m ready, T. Just go.” 

Trev revs the engine and picks up speed. 70, 80, 90… we’re flying. We crash through the gate with ease, but we are immediately shot at. Trevor grabs my head and shoves it down onto the center console as bullets spray my side of the car. I forget how strong he is, because when I pick my head back up, I see stars. T takes a sharp right towards some metal fencing, and I see the Cargobob. As he weaves through buildings, boxes, and brigades of men, I brace myself for what’s next. 

He slams on the brakes when we’re close enough. I throw open my door and start hauling towards the chopper. 

**_ATTENTION. WE HAVE AN INTRUDER ON THE BASE. INTRUDER SPOTTED._**

I tried to ignore the stress of the sirens as we run. Trevor makes it first, and climbs in. He holds his hand out, and helps me in. We slam into the cockpit, and he starts it up. 

The Bob is massive. Bigger than I’ve ever flown in, seen, and definitely bigger than what the dear ex-Air Force pilot’s used to, judging by his look of amazement with the controls. He looks right at home with it, though. The moment we lift off the ground, though, I regret agreeing to coming with him. It’s choppy, and sways in any which direction it pleases. I hold back vomit as we ascend higher and higher, and the ride becomes even bumpier as we seem to split the wind in front of us. 

I look out and see a military chopper hot on our trail. Fuck. 

“Grab the rocket launcher and shoot it down!” Trevor yells. 

“WHAT?!” I yell. _Where the fuck did he get a rocket launcher? How did that even get in here? Did he just casually have that on his person?_ “I’m not shooting anything!” 

Trevor looks at me with bewilderment. “NOW IS NOT THE TIME TO BECOME A FUCKING PACIFIST, PHOENIX! SHOOT THE FUCKING COPTER DOWN!” 

I froze. I can’t shoot anybody! _Bite the bullet and do it, Phi. Your life could depend on it._ I won’t. _You should._ I can’t. _You can’t, or you won’t?_ I refuse. 

“Un-fucking-believable,” I hear him mutter as he grabs my shirt and throws me in the pilot’s seat. “You can fucking STEER THIS EIGHT-TON MONSTER THEN! I’LL SHOOT!” He puts his hands over mine and veers downward towards the ground. Suddenly, he lets go of my hands, and I feel the full weight of the controls. 

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” I scream, trying to regain control. We’re still going down, down, down towards the ground, as Trevor loads the RPG. 

“Get us level again, and I’ll aim. Steady us out, Phi. You can do it.” Trevor says, throwing the launcher over his shoulder with ease. I hear his teeth grit more and more with each word. “DO IT!” 

I pull up on the controls, and steady us out as much as I can. It’s damn near impossible; I swear to God, this thing defies the laws of physics. Beads of sweat fall off my forehead and onto the yoke. I hear the RPG go off, and a deafening roar follows. He hit. 

“BULLSEYE! Yeah, baby! WOO!” Trevor cheers. _Only a completely unhinged man would cheer at killing soldiers._ I’m still paralyzed with fear trying to control the stupid Cargobob, so I say nothing. Suddenly, I feel a hand on my shoulder, pulling me from the pilot’s seat. 

Trev gets back in position, and smooths us out almost flawlessly. “Yep. She’s an unwieldy one. If Michael don’t get those lessons…” he trails off. He remembers I’m there, and the anger in his eyes is something I’m not used to having directed at me. I shudder. That’s the otherworldly, animalistic anger he falls into sometimes, and it’s terrifying. He’s driven purely by instinct, and when mine freezes up, he cannot handle the two conflicting forces. It’s pure rage I feel, seeping from his pores and curling up into mine. 

“I’m sorry, Trevor, I- I-” 

“I-I-I- FUCKING nothing, Phoenix. What the fuck is wrong with you? Can’t shoot a gun no more? You used to be the best I knew. You don’t miss. You wouldn’t have missed. What the fuck?!” 

“I DON’T KNOW, Trevor. I don’t- I haven’t shot a gun in ten years. What do you want from me?” I tear up. 

“An explanation would be juuuust fine!” Sarcasm edges every word, and I see every tooth bared as he says them. 

“Okay, how about this? I watched two of my friends bleed out from sniper wounds, then went ten years living in absolute dread that my ‘expert skills’ could’ve saved them. My other friend fucked off into a hayfield, chased by twenty cops with guns. No way did I think he coulda survived.” The tears come full force. I can’t hold them back anymore. I’m weeping. 

“Phoenix… Come on. Hang on. Stop crying. I… Look, I didn’t think about it that way. Please stop.” Trevor tries to be comforting, but he’s just so _fucking_ bad at it. He never apologizes, never takes responsibility for his hurtful words. He just tries to gloss over it, because he can’t manage his emotions properly. Trevor is so comfortable with emotional distance, and any sort of vulnerability could expose him to whatever fucking abandonment and neglect issues he has. He never wants to let his guard down, even to those he is actually loyal to, because the floodgates of the depression and anger he’s felt his whole life would pour over. And you know what? He probably needs it. He needs to exhibit some kind of fucking emotion, because his complete apathy for others’ feelings while having traumatic experiences with neglect is totally hypocritical. _Spoken like a true psychologist, you whiny fuck!_

I wave Trevor away. “Let’s get the fuck out of this thing.” 

When we safely land at the airstrip, I hop out unassisted and start storming off. I realize I don’t have a vehicle to get back. I sulk with my arms crossed as Trevor turns off the chopper, gets out, and laughs at me. 

“Just stay at my place tonight. I’ll drop you off first thing in the morning.” Trevor says, looking over towards an ATV by the strip. I sigh, defeated. 

“Don’t try any funny business.”


	9. A Few Lost Souls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** TRIGGER WARNING: ATTEMPTED SEXUAL ASSAULT **

**PLEASE READ THE NOTES BEFORE YOU BEGIN!**

**_Grand Senora Desert, Blaine County, San Andreas_**

I hop on the ATV, and Trevor takes us back to a run-down trailer not too far from the airstrip. It smells heavily of chemicals walking up the stairs, and there’s garbage littering the grounds and steps leading up to the house. Trevor grabs a red solo cup from a foldable table on the porch, and takes a big whiff. He shudders, and shoves it in my face. Gasoline. 

“Want some?” He asks. I slap it out of his hands, and it spills all over the floor. His expression darkens. “That was rude.” He opens the door to the trailer. 

“M’lady.” 

The interior of Trevor’s humble abode is just as disgusting as it is on the outside. _Don’t judge. He’s had a hard time._ Pizza boxes, empty beer cans, and magazines with questionable stains litter the floor, couch, and counters. A plastic round top, moonlighting as a kitchen table, is tipped over in the corner, with a mysterious brown liquid dripping off it. An eerie green light stretches across the room, and it’s coming from a mostly-likely-stolen Benedict’s sign above the fridge. Overall, it’s a goddamn mess. 

“I’d say nice place, but…” I trailed off. Trevor laughs sarcastically. 

“Sorry it’s not no fancy-ass Vespucci condo with a gorgeous beachfront view and a _three-and-a-half bath_ and a _fully-functioning toilet_. I’m happy with simplicity; you city folk wouldn’t understand.” He gets pretty defensive, and I feel bad, given what he’s just been through. _You two are one and the same. Hiding out while thinking your friends are dead. Have some compassion._

“Sorry, Trevor. You’re right. It’s a little untidy, but it’s a fine place you’ve got.” I say. He smiles, clears some shit off the couch, and gestures for me to sit down on the spot that hasn’t been chewed on. He opens the fridge with a loud _creeeeeeeak_ , and throws me a beer. I open it gratefully, and take a swig. Not poisoned or lukewarm… that’s a win. 

Trevor cracks his open, drinks about half in one go, and sits down next to me. He belches loudly, and wipes his mouth with his arm. “So, Phi… what the fuck have you been up to all these years?” 

“You first, T.” 

He shrugs. “I’ve built myself an empire out here. ‘Trevor Philips Enterprises’. Best Mexican arms and methamphetamines that money can buy. After the competition was wiped clean, of course.” He chuckles, and I stare at him. _Did he murder his competition? Of course he did. Don’t even ask that._

“Right… But have you been holding up? How are you, like, emotionally?” I press on, wanting an authentic response. 

“What do you want, Phi? Do you want me to cry about how I mourned Townley’s death, how much I missed you, how badly I want to spring Brad out of jail?” 

I’m taken aback by this. “Jail? Brad is in jail?” Could it be? 

Trevor whips out his phone, and shows me an email on the cracked screen. “Hells yeah he is, Phoenix. And now that Mikey’s testicles-deep with the FIB, maybe he can cut a deal and get him out.” His voice lightens with excitement. _How does he know these are real emails? Has Brad sent a real photo of himself? And why did Brad never email me? We were friends… Be skeptical._ I don’t want to piss Trevor off, though, so I just smile. 

“Right. But, no, I don’t want you to cry about it. If you’re mad, though, just be mad about it, so you can… I don’t know, let it go and process your emotions healthily?” 

“What are you, a fuckin’ psychologist?” He asks. I smirk. “Oh, shit. Right. You are.” 

“I _was_. I’m not asking as that, though. I’m asking because I care about you, Trevor.” Trevor cringes at those words. _I care about you_ is something he’s probably heard a lot in his life, but nobody has ever really followed through by proving it. 

“I’m fine, Phi. I’m fantastic. I’ve built a life and a home here. And I’ve got some really great friends. I’d let you meet them, but I’d rather focus on… other things.” He says “other things” provocatively, surveying my legs like he did on the ride up to Fort Zancudo. 

“Did the gasoline finally hit you?” I scoff. “Don’t look at me like that.” 

“Oh, come on. You missed me, Phi. We used to have fun together.” 

“Don’t make it sound any different than what it was, Trevor. We never did anything like that, and you know it.” I say. _But you wanted to._

Sure, Trevor is textbook Machiavellian. He’s detached, unhinged, and cold. He manipulates others into companionship, and he’s driven purely by instinct. And maybe I’m out of my fucking mind for ever letting him cross it that way. I also know, however, that there’s something deeper to him than that. He’s in a lot of pain. He’s been hurt a lot by the people he’s supposed to trust with his life, and it’s not just Michael. He’s also loyal. I know he would die for me. He can be… decent, when he wants to be. _Face it- Freud was wrong about the psyche. Trevor is the personification of the id. And you’re a fucking dumbass for trying to ignore that._

Trevor laughs, and gets up for another beer. I see headlights flash with an accompanying roar from what could be a motorcycle. Then another. Then... another. The fourth one creeps by, and the lights linger through the window. 

“You get a lot of bike traffic around here?” I ask. Trevor mumbles something from head inside the fridge, but I didn’t hear him. The lights are still blinding me. This doesn’t seem right. 

“What’d you ask?” T asks, still standing near the fridge. 

“I asked if you get a lot of bike traffic. Few motorcycles at a standstill out there.” I repeat myself, shading my eyes from the blaring brights.Trevor’s expression becomes wild, and he runs toward the window. 

“GET DOWN!” is all I hear before I feel the full force of Trevor Philips tackle me to the ground. I fully brace myself for a concussion, but my head falls into his hand instead. I smell his faint deodorant and… _my god, is he wearing cologne? This is a first._ He reaches under the couch, and pulls out an assault rifle. 

“Do not get up until I tell you to. Do you understand me?” He asks through gritted teeth. I nod, frozen from fear anyway. He gets up, and runs outside. “OHHHH, LOST BOYS! PETER PAN CAN’T SAVE YOU FROM CAPTAIN PHILIPS!” Multiple rounds fire off. 

I hear footsteps approaching, and, as Trevor just ran off, there’s no way it’s him. _You better fight or flight, girl._ I know there’s probably another rifle under the couch, but… _THEN RUN, PHOENIX._ I army crawl towards Trevor’s bed, and squeeze myself under it. It stinks of dirty laundry. I try to breathe silently as the front door creaks open. 

I see a pair of black boots with shiny spurs. That’s definitely not Trevor; the spurs would be blood-stained because he’d kick the shit out of somebody for fun and be too lazy to wash it off. Who the fuck did Trevor piss off? 

I am barely breathing as the spurred stranger gaits around the trailer, kicking over garbage and uprooting furniture to find any sign of life. _If you don’t shoot a god damned gun, how are you going to get out of this? What if Trevor set this up to kill you? You’re going to die here. You’re going to d-_

“GOTCHA!” A strong hand yanks me out from under the bed, and pushes me on the mattress. “Well, helloooooo, pretty lady.” A middle-aged man with long, black hair and an evil smile towers above me. He points a pistol at me. 

“What do we have here? Trevor’s flavor of the month? You’re looking too tasty to be one of that asshole’s girls.” Before I can say anything, he pins me down against the mattress and presses his knees into my thighs to keep them from moving. His full weight is pretty much dug into my legs at this point. I cry out in pain. 

“Stop. STOP! Get off of me. I’m not Trevor’s girl.” That’s all I can manage to stutter as this man clutches both of my hands in one of his, and starts to unbutton my shorts. The man simply laughs. 

I cry out for Trevor, but the man stops what he’s doing to shove the first sock he can find off the ground into my mouth. _So this is how we'll die. Used, defiled, and with Trevor’s dirty sock stuffed in my mouth._ I close my eyes because I can no longer bare to look at my situation. 

Suddenly, all the weight is lifted off of me. I open my eyes and shoot straight up. I spit the sock out as I watch Trevor throw the man to the ground. His eyes… he looks like a completely different person. I’ve seen Trevor in pretty bad shape, but nothing like this. Something's switched. 

Trevor takes a glass bottle and shatters it over my assaulter’s head. While the man is winded, Trevor grabs the sock gag and shoves it in the guy’s mouth. He then takes the butt of his rifle and brings it straight down on the guy’s chest with all the force he has. _Crack._ “DON’T-” _Whack._ “EVER-” _Whack._ “LAY YOUR HANDS-” _Crack._ “ON A WOMAN-” _Whack._ “LIKE THAT-” _Crack._

Trevor swings the gun around, and points it at the man’s skull. He’s barely breathing at this point, but I know he’s still alive. _Do something._ I finally dart up and run over to Trevor, slapping the aim away from the man. I stand between Trevor and the man who attacked me. 

“Trevor, look at me.” He can’t. He’s still seething, trying to get that last round in. “TREVOR STEVEN PHILIPS. STOP.” I scream. 

Trevor looks at me, and that inexplicable rage leaves his eyes. He looks down at the man, who is inches from death. He looks back to me, and he looks almost confused. Or scared. I don’t know what. 

“Let’s just get him out of here, Trevor. Don’t kill him. You don’t need to.” I say gently. “Let’s just ditch him in the desert, and if he dies out there, it’s not on us.” _Of course it’s on you. Trevor just beat this man within an inch of his life._ Yes, but T won’t see it that way. _Manipulating the manipulator._

“What… I don’t…” Trevor trails off. He looks overcome with exhaustion. I ease the rifle out of his hand, and lay it on the couch. 

“Trevor. Listen. There is a dying man in your trailer right now. Let’s… help him.” I coax him. He suddenly snaps out of it. 

“Fuck. FUCK. He shouldn’t have laid a fucking hand on you, Phi. Just let me finish him off.” 

“NO, Trevor. Let him be a lesson to whoever the fuck these people are that attacked us. If they fuck with Trevor Philips Enterprises, they’re going to run into more problems like this. Oh, and uh… Maybe let’s go to my place tonight."


	10. Up in Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew executes Trevor's Merryweather Heist, and things go South (of course). Phoenix can't get grounded, Trevor melts down, and Michael gets icy. And Franklin? Well, Franklin's alright.

**_Vespucci Beach, Los Santos, San Andreas_ **

Trevor wants to sleep in my bed that night. Usually, I’d refuse, but after last night’s ordeal, I’m fine with it. One swift kick to the sack stops him from trying to get too close, and he falls asleep quickly. I regret it pretty soon in because God, does he have an unrestful sleep. He tosses and turns all night, crying out for somebody named Mr… Raspberry? I don’t know. I wake up to the other side of my bed empty. Where did he go so early? _Maybe morning jog? Bike ride to cleanse the soul?_ Yeah, right. More like “wake up half-naked on a rooftop after a killing spree”. I don’t know. I walk into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. I check my phone. 

**One unread message.** Click. 

_Sugartits. I no ur prob shaken from last night but heist on 2nite. Come 2 my new condo when u awake. Not far from urs. Uncle T_

He has a condo blocks from here, and he still stayed over? Dickhead. I slip my meds in my pocket, and head out. _Going to risk your life- again- stealing from the military- again- but good on you for remembering your meds!_ I follow the GPS to Trevor’s new condo. It looks a bit nice for Trevor’s style. I park next to the Bodhi, and head upstairs. I hear sensual moaning coming from the door to my right. That’s gotta be it. I walk in, and run into Michael. 

“Hey-” I start, but Michael shushes me, and points. Trevor’s got one leg up on the couch, with a man in an orange vest in a very suggestive position by his crotch. I gasp. 

“Trevor’s hard at work, huh?” Michael finally asks, and I crack up. Trevor turns around abruptly, clearly embarrassed. Another man, a bizarre-looking fellow with slit eyebrows and dreadlocks, offers us coffee. Michael refuses, but I shrug and take it. 

“Where’s the surrogate child?” Trevor asks, referring to Franklin. I leave the two to bicker, and introduce myself to the boy who offered me coffee. 

“Hey there. Is this your condo? Thanks for… having us. I’m Phoenix.” I say, sticking out my hand to shake his. He looks at me confused; I run my hand through my hair, embarrassed. _What kind of pretentious LS prick doesn’t shake hands? It’s only cordial._

“Nope, not my condo. My cousin Floyd’s, and his girlfriend Debra’s. Hi, Phoebe! I’m Wade!” The man says excitedly, hugging me. I get it now. Judging by the childlike, hickish accent, Wade is probably one of Trevor’s trailer park pals. I smile warmly at him. _Wonder how Trevor scared him into friendship._ Don’t assume things. _He seems too nice to have just befriended T._ Maybe they’re actually friends. _Or coerced into it. Or Trevor killed his real friends, or something._

“…You and him, the old father-son issues… gives me the fucking creeps.” I hear from the living room. The poor guy, presumably Floyd, is still massaging Trevor’s leg. Franklin teases T as I tap Floyd’s shoulder to save him from his predicament. 

“Hey, are you Floyd? Uh, thanks for hosting T. Better you than me.” I laugh. Floyd looks at T nervously. Trevor laughs, and then Floyd follows fearfully. I roll my eyes. 

“You know, Trevor, you don’t have to treat this guy like a slave. He’s your host, not your personal masseuse.” I challenge. Floyd shuffles behind me, and whispers the faintest _Thank you._

“What do you mean? Floyd and I are besties now! Aren’t we, Floyd?” Trevor asks with hostility. Thankfully, he directs his attention towards Michael, so Floyd can stalk away. 

“Shut the fuck up, Michael, alright? You owe me.” There he goes, at Michael’s throat. I’m so used to these two hot heads at it, it goes through one ear and out the other. Franklin, however, has stalked his way in, and is listening intently. I only care when I hear “Lester”. 

“He’s in the hospital,” I pipe up. “You think the plan would be scrawled in crayon on some poor woman’s apartment wall if Lester had anything to do with this?” I get a laugh from Franklin and Michael. I even hear a sharp exhale from the kitchen, probably from Floyd’s amusement. Unfortunately, Trevor hears this, too. 

“Why do you always have to fucking undermine me, Phi? I- Look, Lester’s getting his vagina steamed, and if we keep him out, we get a bigger cut. Simple as that.” Trevor states matter-of-factly. “Unless, of course, Michael goes states again and tries to have us arrested.” 

Oof. He hit a nerve. “Hey. It wasn’t like that.” 

“It better not have been.” Trevor threatens. 

“Guys,” I interrupt, because Franklin’s curiosity is growing by the minute. “Time and place.” But the two go off. A little bit of “sunshine and boredom”, Trevor’s a “carrion-eating motherfucker”, blah blah blah. _You have to admit, Trevor’s rants, although sometimes nonsensical, have some truth to them. Michael is a shady mother fucker._ True, but Franklin doesn’t need to get involved in that just yet. When the time comes. 

Franklin finally gives his two cents while Michael and Trevor remain heated. “…What’s the fuckin’ plan?” A good fuckin’ question. Trevor deliberates the same two-bit plan he executed at my apartment, and starts walking toward the door. _Unlike you, Trevor is not a calculator. He doesn’t assume the risks, he ignores them. He doesn’t care about them._ Where the fuck is Lester when you need him?! We walk back down the steps, toward Michael’s Tailgater. I pick up my gait, hoping for the front seat, but Franklin beats me to it. Shit. I get in the back, to find Trevor in the middle seat. I push him over to create distance, and he laughs. 

The men start bickering about the distance, millennial attitudes, work ethics, et cetera. I completely zone out, thinking about my mental “elephant in the room”. _What if you have to shoot? What if Trevor’s in danger underwater, or the Cargobob gets attacked again? What are you going to do to protect yourself? The boys? Are you actually going to contribute anything to the heist?_ God, I don’t fucking know! Without my weapons, I’m nothing. I don’t contribute anything to this heist, seeming as Trevor has “thought of everything”. _Sooner or later, you’ll either pick up a gun, or die trying._

We finally reach the airstrip. “So, I guess this is our chopper?” Franklin asks. I nod, swallowing hard. All the fucking turmoil I encountered to get this chopper… Michael better have taken those lessons. We start our ascent. Michael easily connects the grapple hook to the submarine, lifting it clean off the ground. I breathe a sign of relief. _Thank you for finally listening to somebody other than yourself, Michael._ He must have heard the sigh, because he winks at me. We fly low over towards Paleto Cove. Franklin comments on the weaponry in the back of the Cargobob. Anxiety floods back as I think about shit going south. 

“It’s a score, Michael! Even if you don’t anticipate heat, you prepare for it.” I hear Trevor through the radio. Asshole. _EvEn If YoU dOn’T aNtIcIpAtE HeAt-_ Okay. Grow up. We’re not expecting problems, but of course we should calculate the risks. Lester would’ve said the same thing. _What’s Lester going to say knowing you tried such a heavy score behind his back?_ If we pull it off, he won’t need to know. _He’ll know. That guy is all over the news and socials, all the time._ Yes, I admit Lester does have a morbid fascination with staying updated. If he knows what happens all the time, he can perfectly calculate risks and not sacrifice his safety again. Lester needs to peer into people’s lives, to have some sort of control over his own life. He can use his power to influence others, and the world around us- stocks, news posts, police interference… he can’t control his own body wasting away, but he can make sure his source of wealth and power don’t do the same. _Okay. Wayyyy too psychoanalytical, Phoenix._ Sorry. 

We stay hovering over the sub, but an awkward silence overwhelms our space as we wait for Trevor to find something. _Now would be a great time to press Michael for information. Why not ask him what he’s been up to while you were apart?_ Shit, I can just ask my friend what he’s been up to. I don’t always need to have a vendetta. _With Michael, you do._

“So, Michael… what did you do while you were lying low? I ran into Franklin, but I didn’t hear a peep from you.” I try to ask innocently, but Michael sees right through it. 

“I, uh… got into some trouble. But it’s fine, it’s taken care of. I won’t hear from them again.” 

“What kind of trouble?” 

“My buddy, Dave Norton, he reached out to me again. I pulled a favor or two for him and his dickhead FIB buddies, but it’s over. I promise.” 

“AGAIN? The FIB, again. The guy that SHOT YOU. Jesus, fuck, Michael. I really hope you didn’t push Franklin into this. He doesn’t need to see your shady side hustle.” _We’ve all had shady side hustles. Don’t act so morally righteous._ I feel the overwhelming need to protect Franklin. Compared to us, he’s just a kid. He is about the age when my life started to fall apart. 

“It ain’t like that, Phoenix. I wanted to help. It’s the least I can do.” Franklin argues. _Alright, the absence of a father is showing through, Frank. You don’t HAVE to do what Michael says in a bid to “give back to him”. He didn’t do shit except bring you into a bad, bad world, and now you think you owe him?_ Who's analyzing now? 

“Anyway, Phoenix, Trevor just showed up at my house. He must’ve made us when he heard about Vangelico. It wasn’t long after that that you saw him. I swear, that’s basically all that happened.” _He’s lying._ I drop it. We’ve got to focus now. _Why didn’t he ask you to join?_ Who cares? I’m not dying for the god damn feds. 

“Got it! Surfacing now!” Trevor yells into the radio, startling us. Michael readies the grapple hook, and lifts T. I get a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach as we head back for Sandy Shores. This was too easy. Could we actually complete a score without any sort of heat? Was Trevor actually… right? 

“AND HERE THEY ARE!” Trevor sounds too excited. “Merryweather boats!” God damn it. 

“Franklin, grab one of those guns, and get those guys off our ass!” Michael yells. I panic. _Now would be a great time to do something, Phoenix._

“God dammit. Michael, get back here! I’ll fly!” I yell, running up to the cockpit. 

“Come on, Phoenix! You can shoot better than me!” He begrudgingly switches places with me. I hear a second pair of blades splicing the air. A Merryweather helicopter is chasing us. Cockfight! I take a hard right, and I hear something heavy shuffle around in the back. Judging by Michael’s sharp _ow!_ , his fat ass must been knocked over. Then, I see a bright light explode ahead. _Was that a god damned rocket launcher again?_ Someone behind us shot an RPG, but missed and hit an electrical post ahead. 

“PHOENIX! Your aim is way better. Just come shoot the damn thing, or we’re all going down!” Michael screams. I ignore him, veering up. I hear Trevor yell, unprepared for the sharp incline. Franklin takes this time to grab his own RPG, and shoots the helicopter down. 

“Nice work, kid!” Michael cheers him on. _You can’t avoid it forever._ Shut the fuck up. Franklin’s got it! 

Another chopper pulls up to our side. God dammit. I go left, but these guys are too fast for the Cargobob. They slam into us, and I’m knocked out of my seat by the force. We spiral downward, towards the street. I grab the yoke, and yank up with all my might. We pull up just in time to miss a radio tower, but I scrape the flashing light, and we run off course again. 

“God dammit, Phoenix! You’re kind of a shit pilot! Just come back and shoot, I won’t say nothing to your conscience!” Michael starts to get pissed. Shit. _You have to do it. You have to try. You_ \- 

“I got it!” cries Franklin, followed by another explosion. Down she finally goes. “I think that’s the last of them!” I suppress the panic, and continue our course to the airstrip. 

Franklin, Michael, and Trevor bicker about the heat. I try to focus on getting this monster over the ocean and back to Sandy Shores. I fly low, nearly crashing into an electrical post, winning a “DAMMIT, MICHAEL!” from Trevor. I release the sub, and shakily land the Cargobob. Not too shabby. I kick the door open, and Michael helps me down from the pilot’s seat. He pats my back. _Is he actually proud, or ignoring the fact that you put them all at risk for refusing to shoot? Selfish ass_ … Shut. Up. I hear Trevor’s _WOO!_ before a familiar, and very angry, voice. 

“DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU’VE DONE?!” A high-pitched shriek comes from the hangar. Out wobbles Lester in a fit of rage. _Fuck, did he get out of surgery today?_ I gulp. He’s still wearing a hospital gown. _Don’t laugh. Don’t. Laugh._ Once he catches sight of me, Les sees red. 

“…AND YOU WENT ALONG WITH THIS? YOU? I thought you know better this THIS, Phoenix! Michael?! To listen to Trevor fucking Philips and his half-assed plan!” I am overcome with guilt. Lester always keeps us safe by thinking five steps ahead, and I helped put us all in danger. God, I’m so stupid! Why did I even listen to Trevor’s shitty plan?! _I’ll give you a few reasons_ … Not. Now. 

“You’ve got to return it.” Lester is final with his words. My heart sinks. It feels good to be back in action with the guys, but not to get fucked over like this. 

“We’ll find another score, T… that is, if Phoenix doesn’t get us all killed first.” Michael says sarcastically. I glare at him. So much for that tender moment. 

“Fuck you, Michael!” Trevor yells. “After what we went through yesterday, we’re lucky she even came!” He comes to my defense, but I’m already too angry to allow it. 

“What _we_ went through? Fuck you, Trevor! That’s what I went through! You were off playing hunter, and you left me prey to a stupid fucking biker!” 

“Which probably wouldn’t have happened if you’d just pick up a gun in the first place!” 

“You’re just making the same argument I just did, asshole!” Michael pipes in. 

“Man, all y’all shut the fuck up! We gotta put this thing back, so let’s go!” Franklin screams suddenly. We all look at him. “Somebody get in that chopper with that Juggalo mother fucker, and let’s clean this shit up and walk away.” It gets silent, probably because nobody’s used to taking orders from Franklin. 

“I’ll go with Wade,” I say. “Since I’m such a shit pilot, I could use the practice.” I storm off to the Cargobob once more. “Trevor, you wanna throw me in the chopper and I can watch you die like good old times?” I throw salt in the wounds, and Trevor feels it. I see him smash his head several times against a wooden pallet as I take off.


	11. Tickle Me Pink

**_Rockford Hills, Los Santos, San Andreas_ **

I take a few days to recover from the events of the failed Merryweather stunt. I lay low, ignoring all calls and texts from the boys, including Lester. I decide I need to get out of my apartment; everybody knowing my location makes me feel suffocated. _They could come get you at any moment._

I get in the Ocelot, and take off. I don’t have a particular destination in mind; I just want to get out of Vespucci Beach for a bit, and blend in with the people of Los Santos. Flying down the freeway, I admire the gorgeous sun, and how good the wind feels in my hair. _Well, aren’t you a poet. Imagery and shit._ Shut up. 

I end up in Rockford Hills; I park on the street, and hang back before getting out, watching the bustle of city. There are so many strangers walking past me, chatting on their cell phones, admiring each other’s nip tucks- _Gee, who taught you that phrase?_ \- and just… living, with no remorse or suspicion. They never have to look over their shoulder to ensure they’re not being tailed by cops, or feds, or bikers who hate your friend, and probably want to kill you now, too. _Oddly specific to relate to, Phi._

I walk down Little Portola, to the shops. I stifle a laugh as I see Vangelico. _Maybe we don’t go there today._ I look over to Val-de-Grâce, and head in for some unnecessarily-expensive retail therapy. I debate over a cocktail dress when I get a call, and Michael’s face pops up on my phone. 

“Michael, what’s up?” I ask, spinning around to inspect myself from the other side. There’s extreme remorse in his voice. “I know you’re probably pissed at me, but I could really use some feminine touch right now. It’s Amanda. And it’s serious this time.” 

My heart sinks. “Oh, Michael. Where are you?” 

“Portola Drive, on the corner of West Eclipse and Edwood.” 

“Hey, I’m literally just down the street. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” I hang up, and head out to help my friend. 

…

I pull up to an impressive, Spanish-style mansion, boasting a swimming pool and a tennis court. The yardwork is immaculate, with artificial palm trees shading some areas, and tall, trimmed shrubbery dancing in the breeze. _How the FUCK did Michael score this kind of place? The FIB must be giving him some beautiful hush money._ I walk to the front door- even THOSE are beautiful, with polished green and blue stained glass.

I give a knock, but the door is already open. I step in, and call for Michael. I hear a glass clink. I walk straight until I see the kitchen, where my friend is sitting on the ceramic island, drinking top-shelf bourbon right from the bottle. 

“What’s going on? You could at least get yourself a glass.” I say, grabbing a clean rocks glass from the drying rack. I snatch the bourbon from his hands, and pour a single serving. He takes the shot clean, and reaches for the bottle. I hold it away from him, and he sighs. 

“Alright, alright. Phoenix, Amanda left me. She took the kids, too. Hell, she even took the fuckin’ maid. I’m so lost. I don’t know what to do.” He sighs heavily once more, and stares into his empty glass. 

“Well, fuck, Michael. I don’t know what to say. What’s the reasoning?” I ask. 

“I, uh… may or may not have attacked her yoga instructor,” Michael replies sheepishly. “He was touching her, and she just cheated on me a while back with her fuckin’ tennis coach, so I put two and two together, and-” 

_Typical Michael, to jump the gun without facts first._ “Okay, firstly, you can’t just attack people if you don’t like them. He’s her instructor; he has to touch her to fix her form! Secondly, you’ve definitely cheated on Amanda before…” I trail off, not trying to worsen the situation at hand. 

“You didn’t see it happen, Phoenix. It just… I don’t know. It brought out this other side of me, one I can’t control.” I’m glad to hear there’s doubt in his voice, because he’s feeding me a crock of bullshit. 

“Michael, stop. You are in control of yourself, and your actions. Only you can fix what’s happened, but you need to take responsibility for stuff you’ve done that’s hurt Amanda, too.” I say, trying not to sound too "ex-psychologist". 

“Are you here to counsel me, or make me feel better? How can I win her back?” He whines. 

“Both. You wanted the feminine touch, now you’ve got one… who also happened to be a psychologist.” I laugh. “Gosh… I thought you guys were doing great. You’re perfect for each other.” I grab his glass, pour some bourbon, and take a shot myself. I hold both back out to him, to which he accepts graciously. 

“Who knows… Do you remember the day you hooked us up? I could never forget that… God she’s annoying as hell, but I want to be the one she annoys…” 

**_Farwaukee, North Yankton, 1990_**

I’m adjusting my faux eyelash when she walks in. Honestly, she’s probably the prettiest one here, but she is easily one of the most beautiful women I’ve seen in my entire life. Her spunky brown hair rests just above her shoulders, and the bright pink shadow smeared on her lids give her blue eyes an effortless pop. I look at her, and feel a pang of jealousy, but I also adore her. She’s my closest friend here. She’s- 

“Amanda!” I yell, embracing her. She gives me quick cheek kisses; this is Aman’s cute new way of greeting people. She does “as ze French do”, or whatever more sophisticated culture than us does it. 

“Hey, girlfriend! We’re on together today; aren’t you excited?!” She asks, clapping her hands in delight. I giggle. 

“Definitely. Let’s go make some money, baby!” I give her my best shoulder shimmy, but my cleavage is nowhere near as impressive as hers. I shrug, embarrassed, and she laughs and puts her arm around my waist. We goof around backstage, but as soon as we hit the public eye of the lounge, we start our “stripper walks”, sauntering by men to garner attention. 

_-Is now a good time to remind you that you that you made fun of Michael’s FIB “side hustle” when your hustle was stripper?_ No. 

We take the stage; tonight, we’re performing to my song. It always gets me fired up, makes me feel sexy, and motivates me to give my best despite my circumstances. 

_The secrets of your mind_

_The stories you could tell…_

I look over to find a familiar face in the crowd. I slowly made my way over to my best friend, to greet him warmly. I get down on all fours, and crawl over to him. 

“Michael Townley!” I exclaim, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. He smiles at me, his handsome features crinkling in amusement. 

“Hey, Phoenix! I was… just in the neighborhood…” he trails off, unable to create an excuse. This is just his scene, and he shouldn’t be ashamed to admit it. 

“In the neighborhood. Right.” I laugh. He looks at me, a blush spread across his face. _Gotcha._ I swing my legs over the edge to get closer to him. 

“I wanna see my friend in a… non-professional capacity,” He admits, one-upping my body. I roll my eyes, and play-slap him. 

“Technically, this is a professional capacity,” I argue. “Just not our shared one.” 

“True,” Michael states. “I think this is a better capacity!” He laughs, and grabs my thigh to indicate he’s joking. 

“What the fuck are you doing? You DON’T touch the dancers.” I hear from behind me. Uh oh. Amanda must have seen that, and without context, she thinks I’m being harassed. She pulls me back, so she can have a go at Michael. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Do I need to call security, or bust your ass myself?” She threatens, putting a distance between my friend and me. Before I say anything, Michael just laughs. _He sure knows how to agitate a situation further._

“Sweetheart, Phoenix and I are friends. I meant nothing by it, I promise. I apologize.” Michael puts his hands up in an innocent defeat. 

“Don’t you sweetheart me, asshole. Is that true, though, Phoenix? He’s a friend? Or am I going to have to kill a perfectly good-looking man?” Amanda always knows how to play the field. She learns her audience quickly, and adjusts her tone to captivate them. This is a little manipulative, yes, but so is Michael. Mikey is also argumentative by nature, so her challenge is enticing to him. He would probably have grabbed me again, just to get a reaction from her. Amanda played right into his ego; a little cat-and-mouse, and he’s completely taken with her. She knows this, too, because she looks at me as if to ask, _“What do you think of this?”_

“It’s true, Aman. He’s innocent, I promise.” I get up. I look at them both, and the lightbulb goes off in my head. “Actually, I think you’d really like him.” I wink at Michael, and slink off to finish my song. 

_Phoenix rising_

_The flames are calling…_

“I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. Besides, she’s not the one I was looking at… you just tickle me pink, Amanda.” 

**_Rockford Hills, Los Santos, 2013_**

I put my arm around Michael as he sheds a single tear. The great Michael Townley, cold and pragmatic, showing a small bit of emotion. Thinking about someone other than himself. _He does think of others… when he’s at risk, too._ True. I don’t doubt he cares about people, but that level of care is defined by the relationship. He could kill without blinking an eye, but if it’s somebody he’s actually shown vulnerability to, then comes the hesitation. Oh, Michael. _What are we going to do with you?_

I reach into my purse, and hand him a pink handkerchief. He holds it, twisting it between his thumb and forefinger. He snaps out of whatever emotional trance he’d been in reminiscing on his history with Amanda, and hands it back to me. He wipes the tear away with the back of his hand, and smiles at me as though nothing’s happened. “Wanna get a real drink somewhere?”


	12. You're Just Like Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moooooore flashbacks! Phoenix and Michael discuss how they first met. A figure from Phoenix's past emerges from the shadows of Liberty City to rear her ugly head (and perhaps a whole new plotline).

**_Rockford Hills, Los Santos, San Andreas_ **

Michael leads me to a red sedan. I’m about to question it, but I assume Amanda or one of the kids took it. _Is it too soon to ask him about the kids? You haven’t seen them since they were pre-teens._ Probably. We drive to a bar not too far from his house, and go in for a drink. 

A few bourbon sours in, and I remember why I love to drink again. Michael and I exchange our interpretations of memories, everything from Michael giving us all matching tattoos to when Trevor sucker-punched Brad for calling me a bitch. I don’t remember the last time I’ve laughed this much. I don’t remember the last time I’ve felt happiness anywhere close to this. 

“…And then Packie calls me after Lester gives us all our cuts, and says I’ll be a real _gem_ if we include him on the next one. I just- you can’t make that shit up!” Michael wipes a tear away, totally wrapped up in his own story. “Ah, he just reminds me of Liberty City… which reminds me of how we met. Remember that?” 

“You mean, the day I was manipulated into the life I was trying to avoid? Michael, meeting you is something I don’t think I could ever forget.” 

**_Somewhere in North Yankton, 1988?_**

__

_Come on. You’re just like me. You can’t deny it._

“Miss Mare? Your last client is here. Prisoner #57078069- a Michael Townley. In for armed robbery near Carcer City. God save us all.” 

I nod. “Let him in. I’m ready.” I adjust my skirt, smoothing it down as far as it will go. Men in Darkwoods Penitentiary are… aggressive, to say the least. The Rust Belt is packed with men who lost their jobs due to economic decline, and who are desperate enough to survive by any means possible. They are starved, depraved, and perverted. Most prisoners are in for armed robbery, larceny, fraud, or any sort of get-rich-quick scheme to cope with the hard times. 

A young man, pretty close to my age, strolls in. Despite the one-size-fits-all jumpsuit he wears, I can tell he is a slim, handsome man. His dark black hair rests in a slight pompadour, and his facial hair accentuates his chiseled jawline. He has significant worry lines for someone so young, but he pulls it off. I gesture for him to sit down, but he doesn’t. 

“Hello, dollface. How are you?” He asks, looking me up and down. He bites his lip, as if that’s supposed to impress me. _He IS pretty handsome. Can’t deny that._

“Hello, Mr. Townley. Have a seat, please.” I sit down before he can comment on my appearance anymore. “So, you’ve opted to see a psychologist… for your last few weeks here. What’s the deal with that?” 

He smirks. “Well, I would’ve come sooner if I knew the Phoenix Mare would be my shrink.” He sits, and kicks his feet up. 

I smile hesitantly before I get up and shut the door. “Alright, Mr. Townley. I-” 

“It’s just Michael, sweetheart. Please, call me Michael. You could also call me your savior, if you like what I have to offer.” He gives me the fakest innocent smile, but it’s dripping with excitement. 

“Alright, Michael. Yes, my name is Phoenix Mare, but I’d prefer for you to call me Miss Mare.” 

“What, not ‘doctor’? Have some pride, Miss Mare.” 

“Well, I’m not quite a doctor yet, Mr. Townley. It’s a PhD-in-progress.” I chuckle. “But I wouldn’t be offended if you called me ‘Doc’.” He laughs at that. There’s a look in his eye I can’t quite describe- almost like he’s studying me. 

“Alright, Doc. We can’t ignore that you’re a Mare, though. I made you the moment I saw you, weeks ago. Your father is Gallagher Mare.” He says this matter-of-factly, and almost playfully, like he knows something I don’t. 

“Yes, he is. Entrepreneur, community advocate, philanthropist-” 

“Extortionist, racketeer, murderer…” 

My heart stops, just for a second. How the fuck would he know that? “Excuse me?” I look at him angrily. _Keep your cool. Maybe he’s bluffing. No way could he know about any of that._ “Mr. Townley, you’ll forgive me, but you’re nothing but a petty thief. You know nothing of my family.” I smile with the same venom he’s been throwing at me. 

“Come on now. I think I know a lot more than you think. I know what your father’s done. I know what he’s hidden away. I know how close he is to the McReary legacy. I also know your mother has recently been… hospitalized, no? And your father isn’t spending a dime on her treatments.” 

My heart feels like it’s about to burst. _Do not go for your medication. Don’t show a single sign of weakness._ I feel light-headed. If he knows about Mother, he knows a lot more than he lets on. But how? Those documents were signed, sealed, and stored away forever. _It would be at least a two-man job to both break into the random corporate office it’s stored in, and to hack the computer for the files. This man doesn’t look like he could even turn a computer on._

I cannot stay calm. _Mother always said you had a temper_ … “I’m curious, Mr. Townley. Curious as to what you think you can offer me, and curious as to why you think I couldn’t kill you right now if I wanted to, and claim self-defense. My family has taught me a lot, sir, and my skills reach beyond voyaging into the mind.” _Careful._

“I’m glad you asked, Miss Mare. I can offer you a chance to make some real money. I’ve heard of your… skills. Believe it or not, I know people who have seen it in action. I think we could work well together.” 

…This is a joke, right? You’ve spent your adult life avoiding anything illegal, deviant, or disruptive, and he wants you to throw away everything you’ve worked for? “So let me get this straight, Mr. Townley… Michael. You want me to believe you could help me, but you’ve made your way to prison.” I laugh bitterly. “You’re not exactly in a position to negotiate.” 

“Alright, you know what? I’ll drop the tough guy act. It’s getting nowhere. Phoenix, you seem smart, clever, and skilled. I think you could really help me when I’m outta here. Believe it or not, I’m a terrific thief. This time, something went a little haywire, but once I’m out? Believe me, I won’t be back. But you’ll hear of me. You’ll regret not listening to what I say. Think of your mother, Miss Mare. How will you be able to afford her treatments? She didn’t deserve what happened to her- she didn’t know what your pops would turn out to be. How would you feel later knowing you could’ve helped her, and didn’t? I know, even with this fancy degree, you can’t afford to help your mom on your own. Come on. You’re just like me. You can’t deny it. You’re scared and confused, and you need money. I could help you. I need someone like you. And you could definitely use someone like me.” 

I gape at him, unable to speak. I cannot wait any longer, though. I reach into the drawer and grab my pills. Down they go, to stop me from completely flying off the handle on this man. 

“Michael… What you’re asking me is to fall back into the life I’ve worked so hard to leave. Do you understand how absolutely ludicrous you sound?” 

“I do. But I also know you’re smart enough to consider it.” I hear a knock on the door. Michael’s time with me is up. “I’ll be out very soon. If you want, four Saturdays from now, I’ll be meeting a contact in the Firefly Projects. If you meet me at the park at sundown, I promise you I’ll change your life for the better. If not, well, I’ll see you soon anyway. You can’t run from who you are.” The handsome stranger gets up, and opens the door, escorting himself to the guard. 

**_Rockford Hills, Los Santos, San Andreas, 2013_**

“…And there you were, four weeks later. I gotta say, I didn’t expect you’d come. You did the right thing, I think.” Michael stated. 

“Keep telling yourself that, Mikey. You just took me from my old situation, and threw me in a similar one. If I had to be a criminal, at least I wasn’t working for my family.” I throw back the rest of my drink. “Another round? Then you can explain to me how you found those files in the first place.” 

He nods, and throws back his drink. “All in due time, Miss Mare.” 

I signal to the bartender. 

“I’ll get this round, Nix.” A dark, round voice says from behind me. I turn around, and looked at the devil herself. 

“Enya?”


	13. Family is Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ghost of Phoenix Past comes to shed some light on our narrator's background.

**_Rockford Hills, Los Santos, San Andreas_ **

Before I can say anything, I’m pulled into a strong embrace. Despite the warm gesture, I feel no love. _That’s because you’re in the devil’s arms._ Imagine the most snobbish, manipulative, cold-hearted, narcissistic, and spiteful person in the world. Enya would chew them up and spit them out off the Portland Harbor. She is evil personified. _Sounds like someone else you know. She and Trevor would get along swimmingly._ Shut the fuck up! …Everybody felt Enya’s presence when she walks in; it’s unshakeable, a moving force that will knock you right over if you get too close. She is both gorgeous and terrifying. She is… my sister. 

“Nix! Long time, no see. What a fucking coincidence-and-a-half. This is your husband, I presume? He seems a little tame for your liking, but he’s handsome nonetheless.” Enya gabs on, releasing me from her embrace and leaning in to kiss Michael. Cringe. _Using her looks and feminine charm to get what she wants… sounds… so familiar…_ I swear to God. Shut up. 

“Enya.” I say curtly. “It’s been years.” Coincidence-and-a-half my ass. She followed me here. I know my sister. I know what she’s capable of. 

“I know, right? Wow, look at you. You are a sight for sore eyes… I see you still haven’t relaxed your hair like we talked about. You know, the curls are just so un-RULY! I’ll take you shopping, and I’ll buy you this product I’ve been using-” 

I feel overwhelmed with emotions. I get up, and head straight for the exit. As soon as the golden hour is upon me, I feel sick. I run to the nearest trash bin, and out comes everything I’ve consumed today. _Too much to drink? Or paranoid that dear old sissy is here with a vengeance?_ I feel a large hand on my back, and my hair lifted from the nape of my neck. 

“Phoenix. What the fuck?” Michael asks. I shake my head, but this makes me dizzy. Enya squads down in front of me, and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. 

“Sis, what’s going on? Too many bourbon sours?” She asks. 

“I’m fine. What the fuck are you doing here, Enya?” She looks surprised. “I’ve been here for a while for work.” 

I scoff. “Work? What did dear old Daddy send you to do this time? Bring me back home? Or kill me? Either way, I have nothing to say to you.” I start to walk off, but Michael stops me. 

In a low voice, he says, “Give her a chance, Phoenix. I don’t know much about her, but take it from me- with the shit we’re going through right now, family is important. Family is who’s there for you through anything. Maybe not mine… but yours can be.” His blue eyes are stunted from their usual sparkle, filled with concerned. 

“Let’s just go back inside. Let’s talk, Nix. Let me be your sister this time around.” 

I begrudgingly head back into the bar with Michael and Enya. She orders another round, and we sit at a booth rather than within earshot of the bartender, who already relished in Michael’s and my two-hour, boozed-up nonsense. 

“To put it short, Phoenix, I am working for Dad. It’s not like it used to be, though… our relationship has changed. But you know I will always be loyal to our family. The Mares come first and foremost in my heart. I know it’s important to you, too. 

I’ve been here organizing partnerships to establish us further on the West coast. After you left, and the McReary pack started dwindling… we need new connections. I’m out here trying to make a difference, create legitimate deals. We want to rebuild the Mare legacy, and expand into a nationwide… er, conglomerate.” She stutters on her final words, looking suspiciously at Michael, who is soaking in what he’s just heard. “I’m assuming if you’re married to my sister, you know of my family.” 

“I’m married, but it ain’t to Phoenix, sweetheart. I know who you are, but I knew before she knew I knew.” Michael gives her the best shit-eater grin he can. “I must say, I’m a little hurt you wouldn’t reach out to the great Michael Townley- er, De Santa. I’m a big of a Midwestern legend.” _Seriously? We’ve just seen ANOTHER ghost, and Michael’s making this about him? Narcissistic prick._

“You’re Michael Townley? I thought you were dead… wow. I’m honored, actually. I’m also a little hurt that you didn’t marry my sister. You’d be a great… ‘associate’, within our family.” Enya perks up upon realizing who she’s speaking to. _Great. Thanks, Michael. You’ve fucking done it now, all for a little glory day reliving._

“Well, I’ve recently become… ‘unretired’. Any family of Phoenix… I’d be happy to help. She’s family to me.” Michael nudges me softly, and I look to him angrily. 

“Thank you, Mr. De Santa. But we don’t have to talk about this right now. I’m just happy to see my sister again. A get-together has been years in the making.” She lifts up her glass. “To family, am I right?” She clinks my glass before I get the chance. 

“That’s a great toast. I’ve been going through some problems with my family, so it’s nice to celebrate one that’s got its shit together.” Michael clinks Enya’s glass, and sips his drink. 

I am so, so sick to my stomach. If only Michael knew the kind of shit Enya has pulled on me in our lifetimes. Enya is cold and unforgiving. She has killed without mercy, stolen without remorse, and lived the criminal life to the absolute extreme. She didn’t singlehandedly uproot our family, but she sure had a big part in it. 

“We were just talking about some of our good old days. We do that quite a bit. I’m sure you have a lot of stories about Phoenix.” Michael says to Enya. She smiles wide, like a Cheshire cat. 

“Oh, the stories I could tell you! Nix has always been such a little devil! She used to be so clumsy, you’d have never thought she’d grow up to be such a marksman. Eh, Nixie? You shot Packie in the foot when you got that new bow. Or when we did our first gig together, and you pistol-whipped one of the guards so hard, you probably gave him permanent brain damage? Or-” 

“Alright!” I say, too passive-aggressively. “Alright. Yes, I was a bit of an idiot. I get it. It’s not like Dad really helped me. He set goals, but never helped me see them through. I was a self-made gunwoman.” 

“Oh, come on now. Daddy gave you everything you ever wanted.” _Except love, mercy, compassion, or a stable home_. “He always bought you the latest toys.” She’s referring to guns, but her childlike references are so cringey. 

“Yes, and then he made us try and kill each other with said toys!” I giggle sarcastically, glaring at her. 

“You’ve always been such a complainer. Daddy always provided for us, and always protected us.” 

“Yeah, well, he didn’t protect Mom.” That hit a little too close to home. Enya’s eyes narrowed, and a dark look consumed her. 

**_Dukes, Liberty City, 1970s_**

“Mom!” 

“Not now, Enya.” 

“But Mom! I want to show you what I can do with this-” 

“You’ve already shown me, Enya, and you damn near cut your sister’s head off doing so.” 

“Mother, it was an accident, I swear.” 

“It was not an accident,” Mother says, wiping at the wound with alcohol. “You took your sister off-guard, and attacked her when she had already won the fight. There is no honor in that kind of deception.” 

“You’re a fucking hypocrite! You belong to this family, and you call me dishonorable! Daddy always says you have to be prepared for everything. Stop coddling Phoenix! I hate you both!” Enya storms off in a fit of rage. 

My mother looks at me, but my vision is blurred from the pain. “I’ll take care of you, Red. Don’t you worry about a thing. You are an honorable fighter, and I’m proud that you took the high road. I love you.” 

**_Rockford Hills, Los Santos, 2013_**

“I did everything I could to protect our mother. Some people just can’t be saved.” Enya’s voice becomes dark and unnerving. 

“Our mother was worth saving. She still is.” Enya shifts uncomfortably when I say this. 

“She had a psychotic break, Nixie. Not much we can do to help her. Our resources are better off allocated to building relationships, clientele, and re-establishing our empire.” 

“Spoken like ‘Daddy’s Little Girl’. Michael, I’m ready to go. Please take me home.” I grab my purse, and slip out before Enya makes me do something I regret. 

“I’ll be in touch, Phoenix. You can’t run away from me. Family is forever.” My sister’s last words to me make me shudder; she can’t hide the coldness of that phrase. Family is forever. Not for me.


	14. Roped In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phoenix tails Michael, and finds herself in an awkward situation.

**_El Burro Heights, Los Santos, San Andreas_ **

As we drive back to his place, Michael taps the steering wheel a few times, clearly hesitant on whether he should ask me about what just happened. _It was only a matter of time before the rest of the past caught up to you. You are D-O-N-E “Fucked”._ “Phoenix…” 

“Michael, please.” 

“I just think-” 

“No offense, Michael, but you don’t know shit. Mind your business.” I say definitely, so as to end the conversation. _Michael WOULD watch something that embarrassing, and still think he can explain YOUR situation better than you._ Thankfully, he receives a text just then, so his focus shifts to his phone. He grimaces at what he reads. I peer over to read it, but he shuts his phone off too quickly. 

“Ahh, it’s nothing. I have to take a trip to El Burro Heights. Nothing serious.” Nothing serious. _You only say that if it’s something serious._

“You sure? You need help? I have to go around and talk to Lester soon, so it wouldn’t really be out of the way-” _You’re only asking because you’re nosy. What if it’s really nothing? Maybe just helping Trevor hide a body?_

“Nothing you need to be concerned with. Relax.” Michael’s smile of reassurance is so fake. He drops me off at my car, and takes off before I can even wave goodbye. 

_Follow him._ No. _Do it._ I’m not following him! That’s such a violation of trust! _Faking your death and living a life so close to you while you live an abysmal existence is also a violation of trust. Follow him._ I can’t. It feels wrong. I cannot do something that would breach my friend’s privacy just for my own benefit and the satisfaction of having something on him. 

…

As a general rule to remaining undetected, I stay three cars behind him. _A purple Ocelot Pariah is a little hard to miss. He’s going to spot you, so you might as well give it up._ I try to remain inconspicuous, and not getting a call from Michael is a good sign. He would’ve tore into me already. As we drive down the winding roads, outside of the city, I know where he’s going. _-Murrieta Oil Field, 2 Miles-_ reads the sign. That’s gotta be it. I know a back way there; I’ve been to the fields a few times to conduct business myself. I veer off onto the next side street. 

I park my car discreetly, on a hill leading up to one of the back entrances. _You are going through an awful lot just to see what Mikey’s up to._ There is a lull of prattle coming from a distance, followed by some casual insults, blah blah blah. Where’s Michael? Why isn’t he saying anything? Why- 

“Well, looky loo!” _That’s not Michael, that’s… that’s Trevor! What the fuck is he doing here?_

“Well, he just said you’re happy to help the government in any way you can!” follows an unfamiliar, kind of douchebaggy voice. _Ohhhh no. You better dip out. The government?! These are Michael’s so-called “friends”. ABORT! ABORT!_

“We’re corrupt in a good way!” Another voice. An older man, maybe a bit older than Michael. It sounds so familiar… but I can’t pinpoint how I know it. I get a little closer, hiding behind the closest brute machine. I see a green motorcycle parked off in the distance. Franklin, too?! What is this Unholy Trinity doing with the feds?! _They’re plotting something. What if it’s against you? Or Lester? What if they’re doing you in for Vangelico? Or Merryweather?!_ I scramble into my pocket for my pills. I drop them; even the slight sound alerts the guys. 

“The fuck was that?” Franklin asks. The sweet sound of guns cocking follow. _Aaaand you’re fucked. Give it up before they shoot to kill._

I come out from behind the brute machine, waving awkwardly. Michael looks enraged. Franklin looks confused. Trevor looks… well, however Trevor looks when he sees me. Like he could eat me. … _He-_ I peer over at the other three men. One is a classically-handsome, blonde man with shades on. _At night… interesting choice. Like he’s trying to look cool._ The next one, a dark-skinned man, shying behind the blonde one. The other one… wait a minute! That’s the fuckin’ guy that shot Michael! Holy shit! 

“Did you fucking follow me?!” Michael shrieks. 

“You’re still with the fucking feds?!” I come back. “You said that was over, you fuckin’ liar! I knew you were trying to trick me!” 

“Sugartits!” 

“NOT NOW, TREVOR!” 

The good-looking agent looks at me lustfully, a look I've become used to with strange men I shouldn't be around. “And whooooo is this? Hello, gorgeous!” He comes closer, and I take a step back. “I’d say run along, but I think you might know a little too much now. What’s your name, sweetheart?” 

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.” 

He laughs. “Agent Steve Haines. You’ve probably seen me on TV… right?” 

“Can’t tell you I have. But I know you.” I look coldly at the older man. “You’re the guy that shot Michael. How the fuck could you come that close to killing him, and still be pressing him for work? You’ve got some fucking nerve.” I advance towards him, but I feel a grip around my arm. Franklin shakes his head, as though to say, _I wouldn’t do that if I were you._

“Come on sweetheart,” Steve says, chewing his gum obnoxiously. “Don’t be like that. We’re simply doing our job, and hiring the right people to help us in our duty to America. And Davey here, he’s just a simple man living a semi-honest life, like the rest of us.” 

“Call me sweetheart again, and you won’t be living any sort of life.” I challenge. Steve’s face darkens, and the creep factor amplifies a hundredfold. His overall persona instills paranoia and discomfort in me. “You better watch who you’re fucking talking to, bitch. I’m not one of your shitbag friends like ‘The Three Cunts’,” He gestures at Trevor, Franklin, and Michael. “I am not someone you want to be messing with.” 

Trevor suddenly steps forward. “What did you just call her?” His voice is scarily relaxed, like the calm before a thunderstorm that rattles the windows and splits the ground beneath you. _And they say chivalry is dead._ Whatever. 

“Davey” stands up just then, and places himself in front of Steve, who looks more erratic by the second. I pull Trevor back as well, and he stiffens at my touch. Finally, the quiet man speaks up. 

“Can we get back on track? I mean, we now have a four-man- uh, person, team to help out. Just tell them what they need to do.” 

“No fuckin’ way,” states Michael. “No way she’s gettin’ involved. This is screwed up enough.” 

“Not your call, buddy! She’s in! I trust you’ll get her up to date.” Steve has a condescending, frightening voice. One, if I wasn’t who I am, of which I’d be terrified. He has to give even Trevor the fuckin’ creeps. “Look, secure those bonds. Figure it out. I cannot allocate any more resources to this.” He lowers his shades, winks at me, and stalks off. 

And, without fail, Michael and Trevor start bickering, with Franklin trying to intervene. I sit down on a crate, and think. _What the fuck did you just get yourself into? Now YOU’RE in with the Feds. Lester is going to pick up a gun for the first time in his life, and kill you. And you won’t even stop him, because you’re too weak to shoot._

“God dammit, Phoenix! Now you’re roped in, too! This mess will never clean itself up.” Michael yells. 

“I don’t think it’s totally unwarranted, considering how you left me at your house before we could even discuss it!” I retort. 

“Why were you at his house?” Trevor asks suspiciously, glaring at us both. 

“Homie, I don’t really think this is the time to imply they sleepin’ together!” Franklin’s exasperated by Trevor’s impeccable timing. 

“Oh, fuck this! Can you just tell me what the fuck you’re doing for the FIB now? Particularly for that Steve idiot?! I’m in it now, so we might as well make the best of this!”


	15. Play Ball(as), Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a shady confrontation turned violent, Phi loses something valuable, and the Ballas recognize her as a known accomplice to Franklin and the Families.

**_Strawberry, Los Santos, San Andreas_ **

I help Michael improvise a blitz play, something we’re all pretty familiar with (except Franklin, perhaps). And, of course… I’m on clothing duty- boiler suits. That takes all of about ten minutes to do, although I guess I take slight pleasure in deliberately buying Michael and Trevor’s suits too small. _Oh, you are a dastardly one…_ I decide to kick back and stay drama-free until I possibly have to take heat for this stupid FIB mission. I’m having a glass of Moscato in my living room when my phone rings. _The only time you’ll be able to relax is when you’re dead._

“Franklin, what’s up?” I ask. 

“Wassup, Phoenix? You busy today? I could really use a hand.” 

_Internal sigh._ “Nothing’s going on. You alright?” 

“Yeah, I’m alright. Look, my bike just got impounded, so I’m kinda stranded with my crazy-ass aunt until I can get back to my car in Vinewood,” Franklin says. “Think you could help a brother out? I’ll pay you, no problem.” 

I’m kind of excited by this. I haven’t spent any quality time with Franklin since he was at the pier! Maybe I can actually to get to know him. Anything to get away from the selfishness and contempt of Michael and Trevor. “No problem at all, Franklin. I’m in Vespucci, so give me a little bit. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” 

“I owe you, Phoenix. Sending you my location now.” Click. 

…

Franklin walks speedily out to my car when I reach Strawberry. _Shit… He’s in a bad part of town. This is where he grew up?_ He’s managing a few boxes as he walks, and I hear some very odd, womanly screams from inside the house. Not painful screams… but definitely alarming. 

“What the fuck is that?” I ask. “Sounds like someone’s going into labor in there!” 

“That’s my momma’s sister. She’s in this pseudo-feminist bullshit, and let me tell you, the days of listening to four crazy bats scream about their dusty-ass vaginas is OVER.” He rolls into the front seat as I laugh my ass off. “I’m up in Vinewood, on Whispeymound.” 

“No problem. How did you manage to get impounded?” 

“My old fuckin’ boss, Simeon Yetarian. He’s out to get me. I think he deliberately came for that bike since I, uh, kinda stole it from him, I guess.” 

I simply laugh. “Karma’s a bitch, isn’t it, Franklin?” He laughs, too. I glance too hastily at the GPS, and take a right. Franklin looks concerned. 

“This is definitely not a street you wanna be goin’ down, Phoenix. This part of Los Santos is not one to fuck around in. Turn around as soon as you can.” I nod, and drive slowly to find a driveway that’s not gated off. Franklin looks more and more paranoid the more I slow down. I see a way back, and speed up a little in excitement. Suddenly, a man runs right out in front of my car. I slam on the brakes hard, sticking my arm out to hold Franklin back from whiplash. 

“Are you okay?! I’m so sorry.” I cry out, clutching his chest. 

“I’m fine. Listen, roll your window down, and let me talk, aight? Don’t say nothin’. A white girl in this neighborhood is asking for trouble.” Franklin warns. The strange man comes to my window, and I roll it down. 

“Hey, baby. What is a fancy white girl in a fancy white-girl car doin’ out here? You-” The man peers into the car, but stops when he sees Franklin. _How “woke” of you to assume he wasn’t in a gang, but… he’s definitely in a gang, judging by the way that guy looked at him. How can such a good guy be in a gang? Are there many nice guys in gangs? Or are you stereotyping now? Is this internal monologue racist? Maybe you should stop thinking for a second, and focus._

“Franklin Clinton, of the Families! You lost?” The man asks. 

“We was just leaving, Darnell. She made a wrong turn. Honest mistake.” Franklin says, clearly trying to appease this man. 

The man’s eyes are back on me. He casually lifts his hoodie to scratch his belly, exposing his piece. _Why do men think this is the macho way to show you’re packing? These kids watch too many movies._ “Sweetheart, you don’t wanna be in Ballas territory with somebody like him. If you want a real man, now, you come back, you hear me?” 

“Thanks,” I reply sarcastically, unable to stop myself from what I do next. I grab Franklin’s thigh, and, looking at Darnell, I say, “I’ve got all the man I need right here. You have a good day now.” I roll the windows up, and turn around in the driveway. On the way back, Darnell glares seedily at the car, to which Franklin stares back. 

“Now I see why you and Trevor are together. You got a death wish, girl.” Franklin laughs, but I hear the bit of seriousness in his words. I’m about to laugh when I suddenly understand. 

“Hold on, just a second. Who told you Trevor and I are together?!” 

“Oh, uh, nobody? I just assumed…” 

“You assumed incorrectly, Franklin,” I interrupt nervously. “Trevor and I? We are not together.” 

“Huh,” Franklin laughs. “Learn sum new every day.” I’m about to retort back when a gunshot erupts from behind. It connects with my back tire, because we skid off the road into a brick partition wall. The airbags deploy, and everything goes black. 

…

All I hear is garbled noise. My eyelids flutter heavily, and everything feels cold. One moment, I feel nothing. The next, I feel the debilitating pain of my fractured nose, and my eyes shoot open. 

“Phoenix! God dammit, girl, you alright?” Franklin asks. He’s got an SMG in hand, peering over the side of the car for his next victim. The car… _YOUR car!_ Slumped over, I move my head as much as I can to see the front end of my car completely smashed. Broken headlight glass lays beside me, and I become acutely aware that I’m sitting on what’s left of the door handle. _You’ve been saving for this baby for months… over half of your Vangelico score went to paying off the rest of this. And just like that, it’s gone._

“I’d say I’m fine, but… my Pariah… my baby!” I sob sarcastically. Franklin glares at me. 

“Well, shit, my condolences! But we gotta think about how to get the fuck out of here!” Franklin yells. “We’re surrounded by Ballas. They think you disrespected them!” 

_And yet, how can you be surprised that we’re in this mess? Chaos seems to follow the trail you unknowingly blaze for it._ “Hold them off, and I’ll try to boost a ride?” 

He nods. I crawl off down the opposite end of the street. I see a black Dilettante in someone’s yard; there doesn’t seem to be anybody home, judging by the closed blinds in the house. My crawl turns to a painful limp, then to a lame walk as I approach the car. I brace myself, and then punch the window as hard as I can, shattering it- and perhaps something in my hand, as well. I clench my teeth together to stop from screaming as blood trickles from my knuckles. I get in, and find the power wires under the steering wheel. I strip them with my teeth, and wind them together to try and start the car. One… two… Finally! The car roars to life, and I barricade through the metal fencing and back around to Franklin. 

Two Ballas head straight for my car, guns pointing straight at me. I duck down, and slam the accelerator. I don’t pick my head up until I feel one thump, two thumps. My nose starts bleeding again from the sudden shift in gravity. I drive past Franklin, spin a 180, and come back around so he can scramble in. He throws himself in, and I take off. 

Ballas emerge from all over the street, from houses and off rooftops, parading the car with bullets. Franklin shoots, and I drive with my good hand. I try to hold my bleeding nose with my bad hand, but blood just smears all over the place; I am truly a sore sight. A back window breaks, spraying glass into our backs. We press on. I unabashedly run over anyone who tries crossing the street, while Franklin takes out snipers. I slam right, turning off the street. There is one Balla standing some distance away, holding… _GOD DAMMIT! ANOTHER MOTHER FUCKER WITH AN RPG?! HOW DOES EVERYONE AFFORD THESE?_

“FRANKLIN! YOU MIGHT WANNA TAKE THIS GUY OUT!” I yell. I can’t go anywhere but straight, and we are heading right towards an instant, explosive death.


	16. Play Ball(as), Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phoenix and Franklin deal with the Ballas, and find something in common.

**_Vinewood Hills, Los Santos, San Andreas_ **

Franklin rolls down his window, and starts firing wildly at the man with the RPG. As I barrel down the street, closer and closer to him, a bullet FINALLY connects with the guy’s chest, taking him down. However, finger on the trigger, he still launches a rocket, but it skids into the ground and explodes. The flames are enormous, and I try to skid around them so we don’t light up ourselves. I scrape the whole driver’s side against fencing, but we make it safely around. Then, I slam the accelerator, and we’re off. 

When we’re far enough away, I pull over to the side of the road. My heart is beating way too fast, and since my nose is now disfigured, it’s even harder to catch my breath. I reach into my pockets, but I realize I dropped my pills somewhere in the gunfight. I look frantically to Franklin. 

“What’s going on? Your heart thing?!” He asks. I nod. “Okay, okay. Let’s just take a second to breathe. You’re safe now, homie. No reason to get worked up…” He takes my hand, and squeezes it hard. We switch places, so Franklin can drive while I close my eyes and try to think of anything that relaxes me. 

_Mornings at the shooting range with Dad? Not quite relaxing, but one of the only good memories with him… Sometimes playing with Enya was fun, but she would always project her personality onto her Darbies, and they bullied mine… Sunday mornings with Mom were probably the best, although I can’t say I particularly liked church… but being with her was all I needed. Smelling her lilac perfume, getting donuts after… yup, that’s it. Think of Mom._

“I think I’m okay,” I said. “I’m alright.” 

“What were you thinking of? I was talking, like, that whole time.” Franklin asks. 

“My mom. She’s kind of my saving grace.” I say, smiling. 

“Yeah? My momma was my best friend. My auntie looks like an ugly version of her.” 

“I think we’ve finally found our first thing in common, Franklin.” “Frank, I hate to be that person, but are you lost?” I ask. He laughs. 

“No. I wanted to show you somewhere that my mom used to take me. It calmed me down a lot.” 

We drive down another endless dirt road, but it’s blocked off by a gate. He gets out, and talks to the guard. _Where the f-_

“Are we at the Vinewood sign?!” I clap my hands in excitement. “I’ve never been up here before!” 

“Yeah, I gave some girl a ride up here one time to meet her boyfriend. Funny enough, he thought I was fuckin’ her, so he tried to beat my ass. But, we cool now. She sweet-talked him into letting me hang up here sometimes.” He drives up until I see the back of the Vinewood sign. They’re so much bigger in person! 

We get out, and walk up to the “V”. When I peer over the hill, the sight is absolutely mesmerizing. The sun is just starting to set, so there’s a golden tint to the otherwise periwinkle and pink skies. There are a few clouds melting into the sky, floating along with the slight breeze. The whole city is outlined in the distance, stretched out for miles. I look for the Maze Bank Arena, the FIB and IAA buildings (with a slight cringe as I do so), and some other big landmarks. Huh. This is really the place I’ve come to call home. To be honest, as shitty as it can be and as fake as the people are, the aesthetic is much more beautiful than Liberty City, and more charming than North Yankton. 

“My mom and I used to sneak up here all the time,” Franklin interrupts me. “We only got caught a few times, but that was kinda our thing. Sounds weird now that I say it out loud.” 

“Not at all,” I reassure him, smiling. “My mom and I did weird shit, too. I appreciate you bringing me up here. That was super cool of you, Franklin.” 

“Aye, no problem. Good lookin’ out today… even though you kinda got us into that mess.” 

“Don’t remind me.” 

I seriously underestimated this kid… man. Sure, he’s young, but he’s definitely a lot more mature than we give him credit for. I see why Michael trusts him so much. He’s dependable, quick on his feet, and he’s got OK aim. _Coming from you, that should mean a lot!_ I have so many questions- did he have to grow up when his mother died? Why can’t he get along with his aunt? And how the fuck did he get involved in gang warfare? I can’t wrap my mind around how complicated his life is… and being involved with Michael and Trevor and me? I can’t imagine what he’s going through, but he carries himself so well. I have major respect for this guy. If he survives rolling with us, he’s going to make something of himself. I can see it already. 

“Ready to head back? You look like you need to take care of that nose, girl.” Franklin looks concerned. 

“I’m alright. Just take me back, and I’ll ditch this ride and get a taxi home.” We head back to the car, and drive to his new place. 

Lester did real well for Franklin. This house is beautiful; it’s sleek and modern, with gray stone half-walls and an interesting flat-roof design. There’s a garden in the front, and the foliage is so green and plush. A sleek white Buffalo sits outside of the garage. 

“Man, after what Trevor and I just got into with the Ballas, they’ll be lookin’ for us.” Franklin says, leaning against the car. He lights a joint, and hits before continuing. “We’re going to stay the fuck outta Strawberry for a while.” 

“What did you and Trevor get into?” I ask, eyebrows furrowed. 

“Some shit on Grove Street… my idiot friend Lamar wanted to ‘make an investment’-” He pretends to snort a line, indicating he is talking about cocaine. “But they tried to hustle us on with some motherfuckin’ drywall. Trevor was the one who spotted it. I don’t know if that guy spends more time selling drugs, or doin’ them. But we got in a big ass shootout and everything.” 

“So, this Lamar… does he live by your aunt?” 

“Yee. He’ll never get outta that gang mentality, and I guess I’m trying to, so it’s just gettin’ harder to be around him. That, and he’s a shitty fuckin’ gangster anyway. But he’s my brother.” He explains. Why is he trying to justify this? You don’t need to be around people just because you’ve known them forever… _but I guess you’re doing the same thing with Michael and Trevor. You know they’re not good for you, but you stick around for “old time’s sake"._

“Well, if that’s what you want, Frank, I’m happy you’re getting out of that life. Although, I gotta admit, the one you’re falling into ain’t much better.” I laugh. A dog barks suddenly, and I see a huge Rottweiler running straight for me. 

“CHOP! HEEL!” Franklin yells, yanking me behind him. The dog stops, hesitates, but comes towards me and starts humping my leg. Franklin throws him off quickly. 

“I’m sorry, man! Chop’s a feisty one! I haven’t had time to train him yet. Funny enough… he’s Lamar’s dog… he and I got that in common, ain’t gettin’ nothing but bad shit from Lamar.” 

I pet Chop, and he immediately rolls over. “No problem, Franklin. Listen, I’m gonna get going, but we’ll talk soon, yeah?” 

“For sure. I’ll call y’all when I have that tow truck secured for the blitz. Catch you around, Phi.” He grabs Chop, and heads inside. I laugh. _Now he’s calling you Phi? You’ll never get rid of that nickname._ Thanks, Trevor. I don’t know… I see it as a sign of trust. Nicknames are for friends… are Franklin and I friends? I hope so. 

I get back in the Dilettante, and take off. I pull off the highway, miles before Vespucci to ditch the car. Somebody had to have reported it stolen by now… but what do I do with it? I can’t just leave it here; there are too many witnesses who saw me steal this car. And now they know my name. I sigh, pull out my phone, and make the call. 

“Hellloooooooo, gorgeous! What can I do to- I mean, for you?” 

“Hey… I’m sorry to call so late, but I could use your help.” 

“I’m always here for you. Unlike our fat snake of a friend, Uncle T is loyal to those who are loyal to me. Who needs to be buried, Phi?” 


	17. The Infamous Trevor Philips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phoenix has an unexpected guest, and things with Trevor get heated.

**_Vespucci Beach, Los Santos, San Andreas_ **

Trevor happily meets me on the highway, eager to know why I asked him for a ride and a jerry can. He gets out of his Bodhi, now adorned with a stuffed bear that’s had an eye plucked out. He looks relatively clean for once, in stained jeans and a maroon polo that contrasts his pale, muscular arms nicely. He sees me ogling the car, and laughs. 

“That’s my friend, Mr. Raspberry Jam.” _Now, hold on a minute… am I sensing a full circle back to the last time you two were in Vespucci together?_ “He’s a noble man. He died a hero.” 

_The fuck?_ “Uh… sure, whatever. Listen, I stole this car, and I know if it’s found, I could be in trouble. Mind, uh… taking care of the situation?” I plead. The shit-eater grin on his face makes me laugh. _Always Trevor who’s excited about blowing shit up._

“I would be deeeeeeelighted, Miss Mare! I know you asked for a simple arson, but I thought I’d do you one better.” He presents me with a sticky bomb. _Again, how do these people have so much room on their person for such exquisite weapons of mass destruction?_

“You’re lucky there’s enough room off the road for that. That could seriously hurt someone!” I yell. _That doesn’t a damn difference to Trevor Philips._

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You sound like a buzzkill. Don’t turn into Michael.” He jokes. He walks around to the other side of the car, and attaches the sticky bomb. “Now, let’s roll out of here before this detonates. Don’t wanna be here when someone alerts the five-oh!” We get into his truck, and he peels off. A long ten seconds, which Trevor maniacally counted down, occurs before we hear a huge explosion from behind us. He yells out a loud _WOO-HOO!_ before finally acknowledging the situation at hand. 

“So, why did I help you destroy a car, young lady? Stealing is not very nice.” 

“Franklin and I got in a bit of trouble. If I recall correctly, the same kind of trouble you got into with him and a fellow named Lamar a few weeks ago. We needed a getaway.” I explain. He laughs, looking at me. The laugh turns into a concerned look. He reaches over, and grabs my nose without warning. I yelp in pain, and punch him in the shoulder. 

“Maybe I didn’t notice it because it’s such a gorgeous and familiar sight, but you’re covered in blood! Uncle T will fix you right up, sugartits. Good thing is, it’s not broken.” 

We reach my house, and Trevor walks me to the front door. I put my key in the door, but don’t feel the usual click of the lock disengaging. All those years with Lester taught you to always triple-check your door. Somebody’s in there. 

“Trevor…” I say, but he’s already acutely aware. He pulls out a pistol clipped to his jeans, and cocks it. He pulls me behind him, stepping inside. 

It’s dark in the house, but suspicion tickles my insides. There’s somebody here. _I swear, if it’s another biker… I’ll light Trevor on fire._ Trev clears the living room, and that’s when we notice a light on in the kitchen. I grab his hand instinctively, expecting him to push me aside. Instead, he grips it, leading me towards the light. Safe behind the wall, I watch as Trevor peers over, ready to head in. 

“Be careful.” I whisper. He winks, kisses my hand, and heads in. _Ick._

“The law says I can shoot trespassers if I feel threatened, but I do it for fun, too!” 

“Don’t shoot!” cries a woman’s voice. Son of a bitch. Is that…? 

“Enya?” I say, bursting into the kitchen. I’m met with Trevor backside as my body collides with his. “Sorry. What are you doing here, Enya?! How did you even find this place?” 

“Oh, uh, I just looked you up… not too many ‘Phoenix Mares’ in Los Santos.” She chuckles, scratching her head. “Now, this is not the same man you were with the last time I saw you… is THIS your husband?” 

“Dammit, Enya, I’m not married!” Unfortunately, Trevor decides this is the perfect time to claim, “Sure am! My little sweet Phee pea!” He tries to lock lips, and I shove him away while he laughs. 

Trevor inspects my sister like a museum painting. He’s probably in awe of her beauty; her scant outfit emphasizes her natural thinness. I dunno what Trevor’s into, but Enya probably fits the bill. _Why? She always gets what you want?_ Shut up. He’s also itching to ask something. I can tell. 

“Now, I studied Irish culture a little bit in an effort to impress my girl here, and, Ennnnya, your name means ‘fire’… are you related to my dear Phoenix?” I have to admit, Trevor is pretty fuckin’ smart, despite being a total idiot. Enya sees this, too, as she looks pretty impressed. 

“Your boyfriend is smart, Nix! Yes, sir, I am Phoenix’s sister.” Trevor looks genuinely surprised by this. _He’s not gonna be so happy knowing you never disclosed any of this information to him._ “And what’s your name, handsome?” _HANDSOME? She did not-_

“Trevor Philips, of Trevor Philips Incorporated. A pleasure, Miss ‘Mare Number Two’.” Trevor says slyly. I take great pleasure in hearing Trevor imply that I’m number one. _Stroke your ego some more._ Enya’s eyes widen. 

“The infamous Trevor Philips… I’ve heard of you through my work. A pleasure.” Enya says somewhat mysteriously. She always had a flair for the dramatic. My eyes narrow in suspicion. What’s her angle here? 

“Oh? And what is your line of work?” Trevor asks, sharing some level of suspicion. 

“I’m sure you’ve heard of Liberty City’s Mare family… you’d have to, what, live out in the desert to not know that!” Enya laughs. Trevor winces, and I crack up. Enya looks confused, but shrugs it off. “Anyway, it’s so great to be connecting with Nix’s friends. I’m sure if there’s anything I can do to help you guys in a professional capacity, you’ll let me know?” She asks, batting her lashes at Trevor. My oblivious friend just nods. “Phoenix, you should really wipe up the blood on your face. Red is not your color.” 

“I think red is just her color.” Trevor argues. I feel myself submitting to the compliment, my freckles overpowered with crimson. 

“Hmmm.” Enya surveys me one last time, gives one long lasting look to Trevor, and shrugs. “You don’t mind if I crash here, Nix? I came a long way to see you.” 

I sigh. “Sure, Enya. Take the couch. Trevor, do you mind…?” 

“Not at all, Nix. Let’s clean you up. Then, we can talk about requisitioning the garbage truck tomorrow.” 

“Oooohhhh, a requisition? Sounds… enticing. May I join?” Enya asks. 

“No!” “Sure!” Dammit, Trevor. 

“What’s it for?” Enya asks. 

“It’s a favor… for some friends. Anyway, make yourself at home, and I’ll fix you a bed when I’m done.” I try not to reveal too much, but Enya’s interest is piqued. I take Trevor’s hand and lead him to the bathroom before he can say anything else. 

Trev rifles through my medicine cabinet while I sit on the toilet. He lathers soap onto a washcloth, and starts dabbing at all the blood on my face and hands. Unlike in the car, he is very gentle as he cleans away today’s troubles. I close my eyes, and fall into the pampering. _Thank youuuu, T… taking the gentle approach for once…_

_CRACK!_ A sharp pain jolts through my face, but then there’s no pain at all. My eyes dart open, and I look at him angrily. 

“All better! You just needed a little adjustment.” He hands me a mirror, and I examine. My nose is realigned, and my face is clean. “Want the same for that wonky wrist?” He grabs my arm, and I struggle a bit, play-fighting him. 

“Stop, stop!” I laugh. I can’t let him do it while I’m focused on it, because I’ll get too nervous waiting for it to happen. “Trevor! Just wait!” He pulls me in, lifts me up, and throws me over his shoulder. I pound on his back with my good hand, and he just swings me around, laughing. “Put me down, asshole!” He sets me down, but trips on the rug, and throws me into the wall with all his body weight. Clutching his polo, I look up and find myself inches from Trevor’s face. His honey-brown eyes stared intensely back at me. I admire his face, worn with age and a lifetime of violence; the two-lined scar above his right eyebrow, and the smaller one on his left; the injury on his nose I gave him when he ran past an arrow (he’s lucky it only nicked the bridge); and evidence of a brawl on his left cheek. I notice one on his upper lip, and trace it. He doesn’t move a muscle. I drop my finger, and he catches my hand. He tilts his head, and leans in. 

_LADY BONER ALERT! DO IT! DO IT! DO SOMETHING FOR YOURSELF, FOR ONCE! FUCK THE CONSEQUENCE!_ Oh, fuck it. I lean in and-

“And you said you two aren’t together?” I hear Enya chuckling. Embarrassed, I release myself from T’s grip. I cough, and fix my hair. He takes the opportunity to grab my wrist, and snap it back into place. I yell, and glare at him. 

“…No. I’m going to go to bed, though. Thanks for helping me today, T. I’d tell you you could stay, but I know you live mere blocks from here now.” I say, glaring at him in fake anger. He smiles guiltily. 

“Sure. Trash run tomorrow, babe. Don’t forget.” Trevor winks at me, and walks out. Enya just smiles at me from the doorway, and follows suit. 


	18. Trash Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phoenix, Trevor, and Enya acquire the garbage truck. Things get sticky.

**_East Vinewood, Los Santos, San Andreas_ **

I wake up to Trevor calling me the next morning. _Why can’t we do illegal things at like, 3pm? That’d be real nice. None of this “ass-crack of dawn” bullshit._

“We wanna take them early, so nobody’s awake to see it go down. No cops, no witnesses… easy job.” Trevor explains. 

“This does not need to be a three-person job,” I whine. “I don’t know why you invited my sister.” 

“Anticipate resistance, always! Besides… a road trip cuddled up with sisters… It’s one of my fantasies come to life!” Trevor cries in excitement. I scoff, and hang up. 

Not too long after, I hear the incessant honking of Trev’s Bodhi in my driveway. I hop in the front seat, and Enya happily jumps in the bed. She pulls out a pump shotgun- _Where did that come from? Did she walk out with that?_ I look at her, and she shrugs, like it’s no big deal that she’s illegally riding in the back of a pickup wielding a shotgun. We take off. 

“We’re headed to Mirror Park, ladies!” Trevor shouts, dodging through traffic. He shoots through every stop light, yield sign, and unsuspecting pedestrian under the sun. When we finally reach Vinewood, Trevor skulks around, waiting to hear the roar of the engine or the warning beeps of the trash truck. I look into the rearview mirror, and see it coming up behind us. 

“Right on time!” Trevor says, grinning. “Now, I’m going to take the driver out, and Phi, you’re coming with me in case we get heat. Enya, you can take the Bodhi well out of sight so nobody puts two and two together with my truck.” 

“Sounds good to me, Trev!” Enya replies. _Now she’s calling him Trev? Gross._

The trash truck pulls up a few houses ahead of us, and stops. The driver gets out to grab a stray recycling bin that blew into the street. Trevor and I sneak out, and Enya crawls into the front seat, putting the Bodhi in reverse and out of sight. 

“Would you do the honors, Phi?” Trevor asks, pulling out a gun. I gape at him. “Don’t shoot him! Just knock him out!” 

I hover over the pistol, afraid to grab it. My eyes dart to the side of the road, where I see half a baseball bat- the good end, at least. I go to pick it up. Trevor lets out a soft growl. “This is getting ridiculous, Phoenix. This feels like a waste of character development! Listen, if this trash man pulled a gun on me, would you save my life? Could I trust you to do that? Are you gonna let your fear run you like this?” 

“Trevor, if it came down to it… you know I’d do what I had to do to protect you.” He looks at me softly, but it doesn’t last. He looks back over to the trash man, who’s walking back to the truck. I sneak up slowly, bat ready. As he places his hand on the door to his seat, I whack him in the spine. He goes down. 

“Good job, babe!” He picks up and shoves me into the driver’s seat. I move over to the passenger side, and he hops in, as well. We start to take off when we hear a gunshot. Out of the side mirror, I see… 

“ENYA! WHAT THE FUCK?” I scream. She had pulled back up, over to the unconscious garbage man, and shot him! 

“We don’t have time to ask questions now. We gotta go.” Trevor steps on it. 

I start to panic. Now everyone on that block has seen Trevor’s truck! Why the fuck would she do something so inconsiderate? So irresponsible? _Unless she did it on purpose. She wants you to get caught. She’s come back with a vengeance, and she’s gonna put you down like a sick dog._

Trevor slams a sharp right, and I slam into him, surprised. He veers into oncoming traffic; the garbage truck is a bit unwieldy, and it’s hard for him to regain control. I yell, and he shoots back over into the right lane. I hear sirens rapidly approaching. 

T pulls over into an alley, and we jump out. We run back out, and hop some shrubbery into a shopping plaza. He leads me behind one of the shops; I can hear police on foot by the front. I look back and forth, desperate for somewhere to hide. The only solace we’re going to find is gross and inevitable. It’s- 

“The dumpster! Get in!” I yell, frantically flipping the lid off. Trev picks me up and tosses me in, and I land softly. _Squish._ You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. The smell of tomato sauce and stale meat wafts. Trevor jumps in, flips the lid, and sits beside me. 

“Mmm, pizza. You smell good enough to eat!” Trevor meows at me. I cover his mouth with my hand, mouthing _Shut the fuck up!_

We hear some foot traffic, and radio chatter. They discuss where the “trash truck thieves” could’ve gone. I swallow my pride, and text Lester. 

_Put in false police call near E VINEWD! PLS! SOS_

_UOME. Les_

In a few minutes, the plaza clears, and there’s silence. I push the lid up, and the fresh air overwhelms my sense of smell. I cough loudly, tripping over the dumpster and falling hard onto the pavement. _Thank God for Lester Crest._

Trevor helps me up, and we run back to the garbage truck. We head back to the same lot where I met the FIB assholes. Trev parks the truck, and, upon getting out, we see the Bodhi pull up right behind us. Unable to control my rage, I start approaching her. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” I scream. “Tell me WHY you would come back, in Trevor’s personal truck, and shoot a man in a residential area? What the FUCK were you thinking?” 

“Hey,” Enya warns, flicking her cigarette down and stepping on it with a dramatic twist. “You’re the one who didn’t put the guy down. He was gonna call the cops.” 

“They were already alerted!” Trevor snaps. “You killed someone for no reason.” 

“Trevor Philips is going to lecture me on killing someone,” She laughs, and pulls out another cigarette. “You’re the most unhinged, neurotic psychopath I’ve ever heard of. You’ve killed as many people as me, if not more. Never leave witnesses alive.” She lights up again, and I slap the cigarette out of her hand. “I saved your life, sis! Be grateful!” _She’s got a point. About all of that._ Shut up. 

“You did nothing but put us even more at risk!” I growl. “And watch who the fuck you’re talking about!” 

Just then, a taxi pulls up. _Jesus Christ, how many more people are you going to lead to this “inconspicuous” lot?_ “I’ve gotta go. Call me, sis.” She pushes in between Trevor and me, and takes off in the taxi. The driver, a pale man with dark, narrow eyes, idles a little too long, and gives us a strange look before taking off. 

“The fuck was that about?” Trevor asks. 

I don’t know. Please, Trevor, never invite my sister anywhere ever again. I truly think she’s after me for leaving Liberty City.” I say fearfully. “I don’t want you to get hurt as a result. And I definitely don’t want to stay in my house for a while, so just take me to a motel or something.” 

“You can-” Trevor starts. 

“No, I’m not staying with you and Wade and Floyd. If I wanted to be surrounded by weird men who will probably watch me while I sleep, I would’ve asked.” 


	19. New Acquaintances, Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phoenix gets unwillingly acquainted with a Martin Madrazo.

**_???, San Andreas_ **

I don’t hear from the boys for a while- I assume they played out their blitz, and didn’t include me after all. Fine by me. Franklin told me he’s off running errands for an acquaintance of Michael’s, so we don’t really talk. Lester’s kind of mad at me for the whole Merryweather thing still, but we’ve spoken on the phone a few times, and it seems to be getting better. Enya’s been surprisingly quiet, too; I think our argument scared her off for the time being. I take this time to peruse car lots for something close to my Pariah, but there’s really nothing that reaches out to me. _Sigh._

_But it’s much too laaaaate for goodbyes…_

Ah. My new ringtone for the one and only. I excuse myself from the car salesman. “Hello, Michael.” 

“Phoenix?! Hey, listen, I need to talk to you. Something happened, and… Well, I don’t know how to tell you this, because you’re gonna get mad…” 

“JUST HURRY UP AND TELL HER, MICHAEL.” I hear Trevor yell through the phone. _“No seas grosero!”_ I hear the voice of an older woman. 

“Michael, what did you do?” 

“Listen, there are gonna be some people looking for you. I think it’s best if you get out of Los Santos for a bit.” 

“Excuse me? What do you mean, people are looking for me?!” 

“Can you come to Sandy Shores? I’ll explain everything. Please.” 

Just then, a cloth is pressed hard against my mouth. I smell something like ether. My vision blurs, and everything starts spinning. I try to resist, but I submit to the darkness. 

…

“It’s _la mujera._ She’s waking up.” My head is floating, and I try not to succumb to the heaviness of my eyelids again. I fight to open them, to understand my situation. When I can finally see again, I notice I’m in some kind of storage facility. _Don’t panic. Don’t. Panic._

“WHAT THE FUCK? WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE?” I start flailing around, but I’m confined to a wooden chair. _Way to panic._ I look at two men wielding guns and mean expressions. 

_“¡Silencio!”_ Another voice says. An older man with graying brown hair, wearing an expensive blue suit, emerges from the shadows. “You speak when spoken to. Now, Miss _Phi_ -” He spits my nickname out. How does he even know that name? _Trevor._

“Listen, sir, I don’t know you, and you don’t know me.” I say, interrupting him. He squats down to get level with me, and slaps me hard across the face. 

“You do not interrupt Martin Madrazo. Look, I do not want to hurt you, but know who you’re talking to.” My eyes sting with tears as he talks to me, but I blink them back. _Don’t give him the satisfaction. He clearly likes hurting people._ Martin reaches into his pocket, and I close my eyes. He’s going to shoot me. He’s going to kill me, and I don’t even know why. 

He pulls out a Paranoid photograph, wipes it off, and shoves it in my face. “Is this not you, Michael De Santa, and Trevor Philips?” I stare hard at the picture, my eyes still blurred from pain. 

It is indeed a photograph of us… and it’s a really old photo, a few months before the Ludendorff job… Trevor and Michael have their arms around me, smiling, but they look like they’re arguing under their breaths. I’m squished in the middle, laughing, leaning onto Michael’s shoulder. My hair is so bushy, it’s covering part of M’s face in the shot. Wow. I probably have another one just like it, stored away in a photo album. _Or locked away in case the police ever raid the house…_ That’s one of the last times I remember being truly, seriously happy. 

“Where did you get that?” I asked quietly, looking longingly at the photo before it’s swiped back into the Madrazo guy’s pocket. 

“Your friend, Mr. Philips, must have dropped it when he CUT MY EAR OFF AND KIDNAPPED MY WIFE!” His voice gets louder and louder until he’s screaming at me. _Trevor, now you’ve really fucking done it._ He loses control, and hits me again. I feel all the weight of Trevor’s mistake on my face. 

“Mr. Madrazo… I don’t know anything about that. If you let me go, I can help you get your wife back…” I start, but he puts a hand up. I shut up. 

“I think I will keep you, and Mr. De Santa and I will do an exchange. You must be very important to these gentlemen for them to keep such a silly old photo.” He laughs. He starts to walk away, but stops when he hears my phone rings. One of the other men reaches into my back pocket- and doesn’t hesitate to cop a feel- and snatches it. It’s Trevor calling. 

“I think I will take this,” Martin says, flipping open the phone. He turns on the speakerphone, and just breathes heavily. 

“Who the fuck is this? Where’s Phoenix?” Trevor growls. Martin looks at me, prompting me to answer. “Trevor? Hey, uh… I’m with your friend, Mr. Madrazo. I think you have something he wants.” I say nervously. Martin nods, satisfied with this answer. 

“WHAT THE FUCK? MR. MADRAZO! This was NOT part of the deal! YOU had a lesson to learn, but you didn’t, did you?” Trevor screeches into the phone. 

“Fuck your lesson, and fuck you, Mr. Philips! WHERE IS MY WIFE?” 

The next voice I hear is a woman’s voice- a very gentle tone. “Mi esposo... estoy aquí. You must let that young lady go, and I will come home soon.” Madrazo’s eyes widen with fear. 

“My love… What have they done to you? WHERE ARE YOU, PATRICIA?” 

“I am fine, Martin… I needed some time away. Trevor has been very good to me. You will let that woman go, and I will come back on my own. If you don’t, or she is followed, I will leave you forever.” Her voice is unshaking, without a tinge of fear. She’s in absolutely no position to argue, because Martin could shoot me before I could say _Trevor, you’re a fucking idiot and you got me in this mess._

“Patricia… my darling wife, I will let her go. Please, come home.” Martin pleads. I can hear the pain in his voice. _He seems to really love his wife… but he also hit me, so he clearly has no regard for women. Which is it?_

”I expect to see the girl tonight, and she will not be followed. Understood?” _Thank God for Mrs. Madrazo._

“Yes, my love. And Trevor… I expect to see my wife in good condition when she is back in my arms.” 

“Oh, she’ll be in good condition… maybe gently used, but in good condition.” He laughs and hangs up. _Ew?_

The men with Martin cut the ropes, and I stand up, rubbing my wrists. They escort me to a dark SUV with tinted windows. 

“It’s yours to do what you please. You have Martin Madrazo’s word that you will not be followed. However, I don’t know what I’ll do if I see you again in Los Santos… my anger might be, well, too much to handle. Convince my wife to come home, and all will be forgiven with all of you.” He threatens me with the calmest voice I’ve ever heard when you’re on somebody’s shit list. I nod. 

“Understood.” I take off.


	20. New Acquaintances, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phi confronts Trevor about her predicament with Martin.

**_Sandy Shores, Blaine County, San Andreas_ **

After a bit of aimless driving, mostly because I have no idea where the fuck I am, I switch out cars in a scrapyard. I’m not sure if Martin will keep his word, so I boost a new ride with the hopes that I’m not already being followed. It’s a long drive, so there is a lot of time to think about what happened, as well as research this Madrazo man. By the time I’m in Blaine County, I am fuming. 

How could Trevor do something so reckless without thinking of the consequences? You double-cross a Mexican mobster, someone your known associate has already pissed off before, and you don’t think he’d come after somebody you cared about? _Does he even care about you? He didn’t seem too upset upon hearing you were kidnapped- he just let that woman do all the talking._ He did have that photo of us, though… that was kind of nice. _And irresponsible, to have something with which people could trace you._ That’s true. 

I am extremely uncomfortable approaching the front door to the trailer again. _You really thought you could just forget getting attacked here, too, huh?_ Kind of? I knock, but there’s no answer. I try the door, but it’s locked. 

“Excuse me, Miss, are you lost?” I hear a nervous voice coming from my left. I look over to find Trevor’s neighbor calling for me. A graying man with an open red shirt and plenty of wrinkles to spare comes stalking over. His thick glasses don’t cover the weird, paranoid look that must permanently reside in his eyes. 

“Uh, no… I’m looking for-” _Stop. The last time you were associated with Trevor in this neck of the woods, you got attacked._ But if he’s WILLINGLY Trevor’s neighbor, he might be another one of his stoolies, like Wade. Proceed with caution. “Looking for a friend…” 

“Trevor? Wait, wait… I see now… are you Phoenix?” He asks excitedly. I nod, and he smiles in delight. “Oh, I’ve been expecting you! They’re out right now, but please, please come on in. Trevor gave me explicit instructions to treat you as my guest until he’s back!” I shrug, and walk over. 

I step into the strange man’s trailer; it’s pretty clean compared to Trevor’s, but there’s a Lesteresque vibe to it with the computers, radios, and cables with undetermined purposes running along the walls. There’s a bulletin board in the kitchen, with posters of aliens and politicians with bizarre conspiracy theories written on sticky notes plastered to them. This is all I need to see to understand his relationship with Trevor. _This poor, manipulated… stupid man._ We chat for a bit, and he tells me about how he started working for “Trevor Philips Industries.” _Jesus Christ, is it Incorporated, Enterprises, or Industries? What’s even the difference?!_

“ROOOOOOONNNNNNNNNN!!!!!” The unmistakable voice yells some time later. “Daddy’s home! Phi here yet?” 

“Coming, Trevor! She’s right here! Oh, shit!” That’s all I hear Ron say before I slam his door open, and head straight for Trevor. He sees me, and widens his eyes. 

“Now, Phi.. We can talk about this…” He backs up. Too late. I tackle him to the ground, knocking the wind out of him. He looks at me wildly as I throw punches; at this point, I don’t really care where they go, but most connect with his chest and face. He throws me off, and sits on my chest, pinning my arms down. I drive my knee up, and hit him right where it hurts. He lets out a soft groan, and falls over. I get up to give him more of my mind when I feel a bear hug lock my arms in. _Awww, Ron. Such a good buddy. Protecting Trevor, even though he puts your life at risk every day and doesn’t give a shit about it._

Trevor gets up, holding his privates. He waves a finger at me. “I… I said I’d never lay a hand on you unless it was to rip your clothes off… but this time, I’ll make an exception.” The rage in his eyes parallels when he attacked the biker in his trailer. He starts approaching me, and Ron lets go of me to cower away. 

“Trevor! Stop this at once! That is not who you are!” I hear the woman from the phone say. She stands in between us, glancing at me with a very motherly look, like she’s checking to make sure I’m okay. I tilt my head in curiosity as I examine her. 

She’s fairly old; at least, older than Trevor, Michael, and me. She’s beautiful, even in old age, with smoky brown eyes and a tan complexion. She speaks in a thick, Spanish accent; I assume if she’s with the Madrazo family, she’s probably Mexican. She’s wearing a pink tracksuit and a large rosary. _Hopefully she’s trying to exorcise Trevor with it._ And I know this sounds crazy… but she kind of looks like what I expected myself to look like when I get old. _You mean, older._ Right. She’s even got the nestle of red hair, although her color is fake. 

Michael intervenes as well. “P, let me explain everything to you. Let’s just go inside, and calm down. Let’s have a drink. I called your sister, too. She seemed really worried about you.” 

“You what now?” Trevor and I ask at the same time. Almost right on cue, Enya pulls up in a sleek, white car. She clambers out and runs to me, enveloping me in a hug. This one almost felt different. It felt familial… it felt real. 

“Phoenix! Nix… Nix, when Michael called me, I drove straight here, just praying you were alright… Oh, my God…” She trails off. She catches sight of Trevor, and starts wagging her finger. “What did you do to my sister?” 

“I didn’t do shit! Why is everybody blaming me? I took this poor woman out of her misery, an abusive husband, and a loveless marriage… and that’s suddenly a bad thing?” Trevor whines. I simply cannot believe what I’m hearing. 

“I was kidnapped,” I start, walking towards him. He backs up. “I was slapped around like a ragdoll.” I advance quicker, and he backs into the trailer, hitting it hard. “And my life was threatened because YOU-” I’m practically on top of him, driving my finger into his chest. “YOU couldn’t stop and think FIVE MINUTES AHEAD of the present and ask yourself, ‘If I kidnap a psychotic Mexican gangster’s wife, could someone else get hurt?’” I stare at him for impact, and look down. “Did you even care when you found out? Do you care that I can’t go home until you’ve sorted this out?” 

He just stares at me, dumbfounded. “Of course I care. That’s why I had dear Patricia talk him out of killing you!” 

“Fuck you, Trevor. Honestly? Fuck this whole circus. I’m getting a motel.” 

“I don’t even understand why you’re mad! You’re alive, ain’t ya? You’re here with me now. You’re safe.” 

I close my eyes, and shake my head. I think of our moment in my bathroom... and then the first time I was here, at the trailer park... and I can’t control what I say next. “You ever wonder why it’ll never work out between us, Trevor? Why this little fantasy that we'll ever settle down, or act on our feelings, or whatever bullshit you've concocted is simply too good to be true? Aside from the fact that you’re obviously _non compos mentis_? Because as much as you may care about me, or hell, even love me!- You will never, ever think about how your actions impact others. You are too selfish and too careless to ever actually put anything before you! I am NEVER safe with you, and I never have been! The next time I want to hear from you is knowing I can go home, and the fuck away from this clusterfuck of a trailer park!” I start storming off, but remember my sister. “Enya?” 

“I’m with you, sis. I care. You’re safe with me.” Enya takes my hand, and leads me to her car. She closes the door behind me, and says something to Michael before getting in the driver’s side. We take off for the nearby motel. I watch Trevor watching me leave; he is obviously upset. I see him punch the trailer repeatedly until I lose sight of him. 

Before I know it, I’m weeping. I can’t pinpoint how it started, or why I’m even doing it, but I’m so overcome with emotions over that altercation that I can’t stop the tears. Enya puts her hand in mine.


	21. Hold Your Own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phi provides insight on how she met Trevor, and shows us a thing or two about her combat skills.

_“I am NEVER safe with you, and I never have been!”_

**  
_Somewhere in the Midwest I Can’t Disclose for Legal Reasons, 1993_  
** _  
___  


“Who the fuck is Trevor? Why can’t I go with you?” I whine. “I wanted to see YOU do a cargo drop, not some stranger.”

____

“I trust the guy. We ran into some… ‘complications’ a few months back doing this, and he had my back. I promise, he’s good for this.” Michael says. “I have some other business to take care of. And who knows? You might like the guy!” He laughs at his, not easing my worries in the slightest. 

____

“Fine. He better not try anything. You know how men are when you’re not around.” I cross my arms. 

____

Michael laughs. “Yeah, sometime this shit isn’t exactly ‘zero-tolerance’. T will keep you safe. I swear.” 

____

__

____

…

____

__  
_  
_

Michael pulls up to the end of the dirt trail, where a black van is running idle. I hear the front door slam, and a figure approaching. Michael gets out as I’m still unbuckling my seatbelt. “MIKEY! Where’s the fresh meat? He better be as good as you say.” I hear a man as I nervously drop my keys. I quickly grab them, stumble, and fall flat on my face. Oof. _Not a good way to start this… but very on brand for you._

____

I stand up, listening to Michael and the other guy laughing. “Sorry.” I say quickly. I glance over to the other man to get a good look at him. 

____

He is incredibly handsome, but not like Michael’s type of handsome. He’s this… ugh, it’s so cliché. He’s a bad boy. His chiseled jawline and full lips were sure nice, but his eyes… His expression was dark, uncanny; his eyes are brown, but speckled with honey-gold. They rested under thick, unruly eyebrows; speaking of unruly, his wispy brown hair flew all over the place, carelessly flicked up and over, into a grown-out military fade. 

____

I stammer. “I- I- Uh, hi. I’m- uh-” 

____

“You- you-” He says, mocking me. “A girl? Seriously, Mikey? Can she hold her own?” _Aaaaand the good looks are spoiled by misogyny._

____

“Trust me, T. She could outshoot you on her worst day. Just give her a chance. Don’t have too much fun, now.” Michael winks, and takes off before I can say anything. _Pricks._

____

I get into the van with Trevor. He says nothing as he starts the car and takes off. _This is going to be a very long ride if he doesn’t speak to me the entire way over the Canadian border._ Now that I think about it… this boy sounds a bit Northern. 

____

“So, uh… I’m Phoenix,” I start. “And you’re Trevor, that much I know.” 

____

“Yup. I’m Trevor, but you can call me whatever you want… and at any time.” He flirts. I groan at how corny that was, but feel myself blushing. 

____

“Yeah, okay. Are you from Canada? You sound a little-” I start, but he cuts me off angrily. 

____

“I don’t like when people make assumptions about me, Phoenix. I was raised in the Canadian border region of America. NOT Canada. Get that straight.” The fuck? “How about we save small talk until I’ve got at least a fifth in me?” 

____

“Whatever.” I kick my feet up on the dash, and look out the window. I grow tired after a bit, and I feel my eyes getting heavy. I look over at Trevor wearily, and he just looks at me and smiles. _“You can rest for now. I’ll wake you when it’s time to go, sugartits…”_

____

__

____

…

____

__  
_  
_

“PHOENIX! I could use those impeccable shooting skills Mikey talked about!” I awaken to Trevor yelling, shaking my leg. Police are rapidly approaching. The ol’ reds-and-blues flash behind us as cops gain on the van. I reach into the backseat, and pull out my favorite pump shotgun. 

____

“Aim for their tires!” Trevor yells. I nod, and roll open my window. 

____

Time slows down as I lock onto the tire. I take a deep breath. It doesn’t take long to line up a precise shot, despite how fast we’re going. _Picture the apple on Enya’s head… and aim for her eye. Boom._ Down goes the first squad. The second one is down in a few seconds. I try to lock onto the other two, but they gain on the driver’s side, blocking my vision. I grab a smaller, handheld piece, straddle my new Canadian acquaintance, and stick my torso out the window. 

____

“Hey now, there’s time for this kind of action later!” I close one eye, visualize my goal, and fire. The tire is blown, but it doesn’t not veer the squad off track. Dammit. _Father always said, “one and done.”_ I aim for the other front tire, and fire. The car comes to a crashing halt, and the one behind it rear-ends it, and flames erupt. I hear more sirens, but cannot see any more vehicles behind us. I dip back in, and over to my seat. 

____

“Nice work,” Trevor says, impressed. “I guess you’re not useless after all.” 

____

“I don’t like when people make assumptions about me, Trevor.” I mock. He laughs heartily, and looks over at me with an annoying smile. I smile back. _Alright. Maybe he’s not that bad._

____

The feeling of victory is short-lived. We fall right into the classic police trap, rolling over spikes laid out. We spin out of control, and Trevor takes the van on its last leg straight into a cemetery. He scrapes the church, and we ram into the fence. I jump out before the airbag employs, but Trevor does not; it knocks him out cold. _God dammit! Now’s not the time to leave me alone._ I crawl under the van to the other side, and open the door. Trevor’s unconscious, slumped over the steering wheel. The wailing gets louder and louder, and I can hear car doors slam as police search for us. FUCK! _You can leave, or you can help him. Save him and risk getting caught, or leave and let him take the fall. What are you going to do?_

____

No hesitation. I pull at all two-hundred pounds of man as hard as I can. He falls out; I catch his head before it slams against the grass. It might be the adrenaline, but I get him over to a huge, dual headstone that can cover us both. I run back for some guns, and throw myself over the headstone as cops begin shooting. I choose the SMG, fling my arm up, and fire blindly into the night. I hear some men go down, but most of the bullets don’t hit, instead chipping off these poor dead people’s memorials. _Better them than you._

____

“Trevor! Trevor, wake up, please! I’m not letting you die here; Michael will kill me!” Obviously, he hears none of this, as his head tilts over and he drools onto my arm. I keep shooting as I scoot myself in the opposite direction of the enemy, toward the back of the cemetery. I see a… a hearse? What is THAT doing in a cemetery this late at night? _Who gives a shit? That’s your ticket out of here!_

____

I crawl back towards Trevor. I grab the last two remaining weapons, and say a little prayer. I take a deep breath and face my certain death. 

____

I spring up, machete in one hand and assault rifle in another. In a hail of gunfire, I unleash on the remaining police. Three of them are standing close together, and they are showered in bullets. I run towards another cop, bringing the machete up to my ear, and making the split-second decision to fling it at him. My fingers align with his chest as I let go, and the blade hits him directly where I want. He bends to my will, down to his knees, and I plunge the machete in and out as another officer advances on me with a pistol. He swings at my head, but misses. I slice across his stomach, just enough to take him down. I hear a bullet misfire into the fence next to me, and I see my next target. I hoist the rifle to my side, and release one round into the officer’s hand, knocking the gun right out of it. He looks down at his hand, and back at me. He charges, knocking me over before I can fire. He’s got his hand around my throat as my head smashes against a tombstone. My vision gets blurry, and pain sears through my temple. 

____

“Think you’re so tough, bitch? I could just kill you right here, save myself the paperwork, and nobody would miss a filthy fucking criminal like you.” I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I gasp out for air, for Trevor, for God. Stars dance around the man’s head, and everything starts to go black… 

____

Pow. One shot through the man’s head, and he slumps over me, bleeding out onto my neck and chest. I shove him off me, and struggle for breath. Trevor half-runs, half-stumbles over to me, and picks me up. 

____

“Are you good? You okay?” He asks, holding me close. I take a couple more gulps of air, never more thankful for oxygen than in that moment. 

____

“Yes. There’s a hearse back there. Let’s transfer the cargo and get the hell out of dodge before anyone else gets here.” 

____

__

____

…

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_  
_

The cargo eventually makes it over the border, although the clients are rather suspicious to see a hearse pull up. They are thankful for our efforts, and loan us a car with surprisingly real-looking American plates to get back home. On the way back, Trevor is much more talkative, telling me about how he did, indeed, grow up in Canada. He even mentions that he wanted to be an Air Force pilot, and he’d be happy to take me for a ride, should we ever… “acquire” a plane. When we reach the empty lot and wait for Michael to pick me up, he gets quiet. I get out for a cigarette, and he follows me. 

____

“Those will kill you, you know.” He says, offering me a lighter. I chuckle, and accept it. 

____

“Yeah. Of all the jobs I’m invested in, and the people I work with, cancer’s number one on my list of concerns.” 

____

“Yeah… Listen, you did real good today. You can really hold your own. You didn’t have to stay with me, save me, but you did. In this line of work, it would’ve been much easier to just…” He trails off. 

____

“Abandon you?” He winces hard. “I don’t roll that way.” 

____

“Well, ol’ T here will remember that.” He stares at me, like a puzzle piece he doesn’t know how to manipulate into the finished product. 

____

The next thing I know, his lips are locked on mine. It is so fast and unforeseen that I don’t have time to react. His hands are wrapped entirely around my waist. His kiss is strong, yet soft. His mouth is freezing cold from the Midwestern winter, but I also feel like I could just melt into him. And I kinda want to… but Michael is strolling in, headlights glaring right in our direction. I shove him off. 

____

“Yo!” I yell, releasing myself from his grip. “I don’t even know you!” 

____

“I just thought… I mean, I…” He fumbles over his words. I just look at him, and I can’t control the surprised look on my face. Then, he laughs, flashing all his teeth at me in an open-mouthed, really bizarre cackle. _What is wrong with this guy?_

____

“Hello, ladies! How did it go? Whose car is that?” Michael asks, walking up. 

____

“It was fine. This badass chick right here is as good as you said. I hope to see her again real soon.” He winks at me. “It’s been fun, Phoenix. Can I call you _Phi_?” 

____

“No.”

____

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want a more vivid way to picture Phoenix's skills, it's almost like time slows down, the way Franklin drives or Michael/Trevor shoot with their specials. Along with that, aim is near-perfect, targeting with precision and no resistance. I tried to picture her in the game- what kind of special skill she'd have!


	22. One Chute Over the Cuckoos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phoenix, Enya, and Michael have some fun; Trevor does not. Phi and T make amends.

_**Sandy Shores, Blaine County, San Andreas** _

Enya and I stay in the dirtiest, most wretched motel I’ve ever seen out on Route 68, not too far from the trailer. She and I stay up all night talking; we don’t really reflect on our childhood- _probably a good thing, since you hated each other-_ but she helps me laugh about everything that’s happened in the past few days. She even apologizes for the whole trash run thing, citing her paranoia from running with LC mobsters for so long. _Father also engrained in our minds to “never leave witnesses”. Can’t really blame her for that._ I’m surprised, but surprisingly okay with, her kindness. 

Thankfully, Michael lets me sleep in before calling me up again. He insists that Trevor is “about to do something stupid”, and that I should be the voice of reason. He doesn’t agree with me that Trevor should “suck a fat one”, but laughs about it. Since Trevor’s gone, I woman up, and head over to the trailer to talk to Michael. 

“…And then he didn’t wanna pay us, so Trevor apparently flipped out and kidnapped his wife. And that’s what happened. This whole turn of events is just a caida libre, am I right?” He laughs. “Seriously, though. It doesn’t change anything, but I’m sorry you got involved in this.” 

“Well… it’s okay. I guess he kind of deserved having his wife kidnapped. He was a fucking asshole.” I laugh. Patricia giggles from over in Trevor’s room, where she’s making his bed. I watch her, and I can’t help the wave of confusion that invades my face. Enya cracks up at this. 

“So, where is Trevor now?” She asks. _Good question…_

“He’s, uh…” Michael hesitates, not sure what he should disclose to my sister. He looks at me, and I nod. Maybe it’s the happiness of last night, but I’m willing to trust her with this. “He’s screwing Merryweather over, something about a weapon cache.” 

“Interesting… for Merryweather Private Security? That is interesting indeed…” Enya trails off. She pulls out her phone, probably to do some research. Michael gestures towards the liquor on the kitchen table, and gives me a devious look. I smile. _Why don’t we do a little day drinking?_

Michael, Enya, and I start taking shots, with Mrs. Madrazo politely reminding us to consume responsibly. Buzzed, I stumble over to Trevor’s bedroom, and start rifling around. Enya and I giggle when I pull out a pair of his sweatpants and try them on, but scream when we see the white stains in the pelvic area. I fling them at Michael’s head, and he throws them on Patricia, who simply takes them to the sink to wash. We double over with laughter. We all try on T’s clothes, but keel over when Michael rips one of his tank tops pulling it over his gut. I open the drawers, and find a two-way radio. Curious, I turn it on. 

“ _Shhhhhh._ This is ‘Papa Hotel India’. _Shhhhh._ Over. _Shhhhhh._ We are at beautiful Sandy Shores- no, give it back, Mikey!- _Shhhhh._ Do you copy? Over!” 

“I’m hit!!! I’m hit!!! RONNNNN! ARE YOU READING? IS THAT YOU?” I hear Trevor scream through the radio. 

“Shhhh, Uncle Tango? Is that you?” I say. Michael and Enya are holding each other laughing. 

“T! THE ENGINE! GET OUT OF THERE! I DON’T WANNA LOSE YOU!” Ron screams. 

“‘Romeo Oscar November’! How lovely to hear you!” I yell. 

“PHOENIX? Is that you? How did you even get on this channel?!” The panic in T’s voice jolts me. _Shit. Maybe he’s not joking._

“Trevor? I was just playing on your radio. Are you okay?!” I ask fearfully. 

“The controls aren’t working, Ron!” He shouts over me. “I’m getting a chute, and I’m bailing!” _Shhhhh._ Actual radio silence. 

I start to panic. A chute? Like a parachute? Why the fuck? I run over to Michael’s phone, and dial for Ron. 

“Ron? What the fuck happened? Where’s Trevor?!” I ask in a flurry. 

“I don’t know! He took over a cargo plane, and it got shot down by the fucking Air Force! I’m freakin’ out right now!” Ron screams. 

I instinctively run outside, not sure quite what I’m looking for. I spot an ATV by Ron’s trailer; I hop on, and speed off. I hear Michael and Enya yelling in the distance, but I’m too busy thinking about what I could find. As I head onto the main highway toward the McKenzie air strip, that’s when I see it. 

The infamous cargo plane is descending rapidly, straight down into the Alamo Sea. I can picture the crash now- explosive, with violent orange flames destroying everything inside the plane until it submerges and disappears forever into the unforgiving waters. _What if Trevor didn’t make it out? What if he got shot before he could find a parachute? What if there isn’t one? What if he’s actually… gone? The luckiest bastard alive… dead?_

I can feel my heart racing, and my breath slowing. My lungs feel like they’re about to pop, and the air deflate from them, like some sad balloon. I can feel the seizure start to breathe fear into my arms as they shake too much to control the ATV. I veer off to the side of the road, and start to cry as I grab my meds. The pill falls out of my mouth, as what I see leaves me completely slack-jawed. 

There is a figure in the sky; the wind is strong, and blows the parachute attached to it all over the place. It’s heading straight for Sandy Shores. Could it be? 

“THEY SPOILED IT FOR EVERYONE!” _Of course he would survive that. ONLY HE would survive that._ I hock down another pill, so I can muster up the strength to ride over to where he’ll inevitably land. 

Trevor comes soaring in so fast that he smashes into an electrical pole, twisting himself up in the lines as he falls down with a _Fuck!_

“Trevor!” I fly off the ATV, and run to him. “Jesus Christ! Are you okay?” 

“ _Aghhhh…_ Sugartits! You’re back! I’m… okay…” He clutches his abdomen, which he scratched hard in the fall. “Shit. You still mad at me, or what?” 

I bend to my knees, and hug him. He yelps when I hit his stomach, but attempts to embrace me in a one-armed hug. “I’m not mad anymore… but don’t ever do something so fucking stupid again. I thought we flew well together.” I demand. 

Trevor laughs. “Fine. You owe me my boys an apology, and maybe a massage. That kick really hurt.” 

“Ahh, nix the massage, but I’m sorry for the low blow.” I cock an eyebrow at him. _Don’t expect an apology. You’ll never get one. Even if you did, he wouldn’t mean it._ “Trevor… Martin made me from a really old photograph. He said it was yours. Have you kept that on you all this time?” I venture. He looks down, embarrassed… blushing? Before he can answer, Trev’s phone rings. _How the fuck did his CELL PHONE survive that kind of fall? How did it not come flying out of his pocket, or shatter when he hit the pole? Doesn’t seem logical._ Don’t ask me! Ask Rockstar. 

“…Fuck, Ron, I gotta do this, okay? But I’m usin’ em, alright? They ain’t usin’ me. Let’s make that clear.” He hangs up. “My secret admirer called. You’re on babysitting duty!”


	23. Three More's a Crowd...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phoenix, Enya, and Patricia get into an awkward situation.

**_Sandy Shores, Blaine County, San Andreas_ **

I give Trevor a lift back to the trailer, where Enya is waiting outside, smoking. She looks surprised to see Trevor. “Oh! You’re alright! Wow. We saw the plane crash into the sea… it’s so lucky you made it out…” she trails off, smiling. 

“It’s going to take a lot more than my old running mates to take Uncle T down!” Trevor clicks his heels like a military march, and salutes my sister. “Phi, I’m heading out.” 

“Where exactly are you going?” I ask, bewildered he’d want to leave right away after that fiasco. 

“My… uh, my gas station?” Trevor tries. 

“Your… gas station. You own a gas station? Or is that code word for, like, meth lab or something?” I laugh. Trevor chuckles nervously, cracking his knuckles. “Oh. It _is_ a meth lab.” _Don’t act surprised. It’s Blaine County. He probably spearheaded the meth movement up here._

“Listen… Keep Patricia company while I’m gone, yeah? Whatever it is, I’m sure Stevey will want you in on it. I’ll call you as soon as I’m done. Make yourself at home, but, uh… Don’t play with my undies anymore, eh?” 

I giggle. “Yeah… sorry about that. Also, sorry we drank half your booze. And that Michael ripped your shirt. And we made that poor lady wash your shitty underwear. And joked around while you were literally crashing into the sea.” 

Trevor laughs sarcastically. “Ha ha ha. Whatever. It’s all good. Keep Mrs. Madrazo busy, now… we go on daily walks, talk about our feelings, even hold hands sometimes… The physical connection is important to her…” 

“Okay, okay, okay. No need to explain anymore. Go.” I say. He nods, and takes off. Enya and I head inside to see what my dear friend’s latest victim is up to. 

“Hola.” She says cheerfully, ironing a pair of Trevor’s jeans. I’m amazed by how spotless everything looks. _She did this in one day?_ The cockroaches are gone, the weird stains are lifted from the couch… even the ceiling doesn’t look like it’s going to cave in from mold anymore. 

“Wow, Mrs. Madrazo. It looks amazing in here!” I say in awe. She smiles, setting down her iron. She grabs two wine coolers from the fridge, and offers them to us. I refuse, but Enya grabs both and sinks into the couch, flipping on the TV and kicking off her shoes. 

“A little feminine touch can fix anything.” Patricia says softly. “Why haven’t you moved in here yet? I thought you and my darling Trevor were… oh…” 

I give her a look, and she cuts off. “No, ma’am. We’re just friends… I don’t know why people think otherwise. But, out of curiosity…” _Oh, you’re a sneaky one._ Enya looks over, suddenly interested. 

“Trevor and I… we talk of beautiful things-” she says this dreamily, and I have to stop myself from gagging. “He speaks of you much. He pretends like it does not hurt him… but he is a very pained man, Miss Phoenix. He cares very, very much. And with the life he’s lived… I cannot blame him.” 

_This is a little heavy of a conversation to have with a stranger._ “Yeah… uh…” 

Enya finally pipes up. “How DELICIOUS! Please, tell us more about Trevor’s neglected childhood and weird obsession with my sister. This is so absurd!” She laughs, and I throw a pillow at her. 

“Stop, Enya! It’s not funny! It’s complicated…” 

“What’s complicated? He’s, quite literally, a psychopath. If you don’t end up putting him down, you know somebody else is going to.” She shrugs, and sips her wine cooler. Patricia slaps her feet off the couch, whispering no. 

“Shut up, asshole. Trevor Philips is practically immortal. Lord knows we all should’ve died a long time ago…” I think back to North Yankton, and shudder. 

“You’re starting to sound like his weird friends. Totally entranced by him. It’s gross.” _She’s got a point…_

_Knock knock knock!_ Three aggressive pounds on the door. He can’t be back already- he just left! I look over at Enya, and point to the kitchen table, where there’s a hunting rifle lying. She grins as she picks it up, running her finger along the piece. I gesture for Patricia to move to the bedroom, and I open the door. 

Outside are three men; they are all Asian, with similar short, dark hairstyles and light brown eyes to contrast the crew cuts. The one in front is tall with a wide nose and stubble that softly shades his upper lip. He look surprised to see me. 

“Where is Trevor Philips?” He asks in a strong accent, peering into the trailer. I lean a bit to block his vision. 

“I’m sorry, he’s not here. Who are you?” I ask, perhaps a bit too aggressively. 

“My name is Fan. They call me ‘Tracker’. I need to speak with Mr. Philips immediately. It is urgent business, woman.” He casually pulls out a pistol, spinning it on his pointer finger. 

_Woman, huh? We’re going to be like that?_ “Well, like I just said. He’s not here. You’ll have to come back another time.” 

“I can wait.” He says, trying to push past me. Enya emerges, but freezes up, lowering the gun. 

“Uh…” She stutters. I look at her, bewildered. “Sir, there is no Trevor Philips here. I suggest you come back when we’re not here.” She lifts the rifle back up. Fan just looks at her; his expression is hard to gauge, but he’s not fearful despite looking down a barrel. They stare intently for a few seconds. Suddenly, I feel a hand on my back, and a gentle nudge. 

“Patricia, don’t-” 

“If my husband, Martin Madrazo, were here, I think he’d say something like, _‘tú sabes qué dicen ellos. Tres es una fiesta, pero tres más son una multitud.’ Vete.”_ The men recognize her, and start backing away. Before climbing back into a brilliantly-white car, they look once at me, then back to Enya. 

“We’ll be back. I’d clear the area if I were you.” And just like that, they’re gone. I close the door, and pop one of my pills. Patricia shoots me a dirty look, but I reveal it’s prescription, and she backs off. _Mothers…?_

“Well… that was…” Enya said. 

“Do you know them?” I ask. “They were looking at you an awful lot. Like they knew you.” 

She laughs. “Seriously, Nix? They were probably looking at me because I was the one with the gun. Don’t overthink this.” _She’s right. You’re too nervous._

“I guess that’s true. And, Mrs. M… what did you say to them?” I laugh. “That was incredible!” 

“I simply said ‘three’s a party, but three more’s a crowd’…” We all laugh.


	24. Seeking Vengeance, Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phoenix gets caught in the crossfires of Trevor's mistakes; it's Franklin to the rescue.

**_The Great Ocean Highway, Blaine County, San Andreas_ **

After reconciling things with Trevor, I send Enya home, and spend a few days catching up with my boys. Patricia has certainly made it look a lot better, cleaning up the disgusting messes and ironing out and hanging up T’s clothes that usually lay scattered around the floor. It’s actually- dare I say- livable? I sense Michael’s starting to feel cooped up, though. Desert living certainly isn’t for him. I don’t know- it’s kind of growing on me. People- the white trash, meth-dealing, ignorant hillbillies that they are- are mostly authentic. They live the way they want without constantly worrying over a tiny blemish or how washboard their abs are. It’s way different from Los Santos. I feel like I can do whatever the hell I want out here. If I could take out the racism and squalor living conditions, I could be pretty content staying here a while. 

I’ve also taken to Blaine County’s natural beauty. The mountains are gorgeous, and the lake views are spectacular, as well. I still don’t have a car, but Trevor lets me drive his Bodhi around, which is a huge favor when I need to get away from the boys’ incessant fighting. When things heat up, I take off. 

I decide to take another scenic route when Michael starts getting moody about missing Amanda and the kids. _This can be a Trevor problem today._ The engine roars to life, and I’m off to the races. 

I’m driving down whichever highway stretches across most of Blaine- the wind whips my hair around, and I feel every strand dancing above my head. The sun is hot on my skin, and I pray another unanswered prayer of being gifted a tan for my efforts. _Luck of the Irish._ Trevor’s got some weird rock station playing, and it’s one of the only channels I can get out here, so I just relish in it. Everything feels so calm, and I feel so free. 

Until that all-too-familiar feeling overcomes me as another truck smashes into mine, veering me off the road and into a ditch. 

I quickly open my eyes, looking around. _What the fuck just happened?_ Thankfully, my nose will live to see another day without injury, as the airbags didn’t deploy. The crash wasn’t fatal to the truck; there doesn’t even look to be a scratch- well, any scratches or blood stains Trevor didn’t already have on it. Out of the corner of my eye, I see three men approaching me. Two of them made me feel like I was seeing double- they were ugly, with greasy brown hair curling into mullets. The other guy had a similar mug, but he was bald. They could all easily be brothers. _Probably victims of incest. Tsk tsk._ Rude, but potentially true. 

Before I can scramble out, one of them yanks the door open and pulls me out. He speaks in an obnoxious country drawl, like he spent a little time in the South and suddenly he’s a cowboy. “Well, well, well! What do we have here? Who are you, pretty lady? Do you know whose truck you’re drivin’?” 

I try to pull away, but his grip is ironclad. _Are these hillbillies evolving into bodybuilders? Jesus Christ!_ “Uh… I mean, I know this is Trevor’s truck. Look, I don’t want any harm, and I really don’t know who you are. Please don’t involve me in this.” 

“Where is he?” 

“Noneya.” 

“Noneya?” 

“Noneya fuckin’ business.” 

The ringleader of this little Sweet Home Alabama Gang glares at me. “Change of plans. Wynn, have someone pick up the truck and take it back to the trailer park, so ol’ Trevor can see his sweetheart’s missin’.” 

I struggle, but eventually the brother with the grip on me throws me into their truck. The guy, named Elwood- “Don’t tell her my name, idiot!” “Well, she knows Wynn’s name!”- ties my hands together in a Scouts-worthy knot. 

“You’re idiots, all of you! Trevor’s not only gonna come for me, but with a vengeance!” I spit. I don’t know if it’s actually true, but it might scare them. _He might be too busy with Patricia to remember you even left._ Who the fuck are these rednecks, anyway? What did Trevor do THIS time to piss them off so badly? I almost- yes, almost- feel bad for them. 

“Woman, you need to watch your mouth. That mother fucker killed all my brothers. All of ‘em! Ernie, Earl, Dale, Doyle, Daryl, Dan, Dalton, AND Don. Even Don- he was the nicest guy on the whole planet! Do you know what it feels like to lose everyone you love all at once?!” Elwood cries from the driver’s seat. I can hear him sniffling, then slapping away the other’s hand as he tries to comfort him. 

“I do, actually. I know what that feels like.” _Granted, they’re all still alive… but a little sympathy can go a long way._

“You- you do?” He looks at me tearfully through the rear-view window. I nod, fake empathy evident in my eyebrows. “Sorry. I didn’t mean nothin’ by that.” 

“It’s alright,” I start. “I think you have reason to be mad at Trevor. Why did he kill your family?” 

“We stole some business from him. Some Chinese bastards who never even checked in on us after anyway, neither.” Elwood says. _Seems like a pretty legitimate reason to want to kill Trev. Can you blame him?_ Not really, but I’m not dying for his mistakes. I start to respond with pretended pity, but I see something out of the back window that shocks me. 

It’s not so much the car I recognize, but the driver. Even from a distance, Franklin Clinton’s dark and handsome face is unmistakable. _Thank. God._ I try to sit up, but Elwood hits a bump and my face smashes against the glass. _Ow. There goes your nose again._ My eyes sting from the pain, and as I fall, my cell phones falls out of my jacket pocket and onto the floor. Call Franklin! 

Slowly and surely, hands tied behind my back, head rotated at an extremely difficult one-hundred-degree angle back, I search through my contacts until I find Franklin Clinton, and I press the call button. I set the phone down and press my ear hard against the floor, hoping my kidnappers don’t hear it dialing. 

“Phi, hey, I’m kinda in the middle of som-” 

_“Franklin,”_ I whisper. _“Franklin, I’m in the car ahead of you. Those guys kidnapped me. Please help me.”_ My voice lulls into such a dull fade, I’m surprised Franklin can even hear me. 

“Are you fuckin’ serious? I can’t see you. Are you in the backseat?” He asks, frantic. I pop my head up and look out, and he notices me. I lay back down. 

“I’m here. Shoot the tire, or the lock on the truck. Anything.” I hang up. With all the strength in my body, I work on untying the knots around my wrists. I bite my lip as my forearms work themselves bloodless with all the strain of tearing apart the rope. This is definitely gonna leave a mark. I let out an instinctual cry as I finally pull myself free, but my wrists are bleeding quite a bit as a result. 

“What are you doing back there, girl?” The other brother asks. 

“She’s just cryin’, Walton! She’s scared. Let a girl have all her delicate emotions.” Wynn states definitively. And they say chivalry is dead. 

The car is moving too fast to jump out. I lock onto Franklin’s car, steadily gaining speed on us. His arm is out the window, pistol in his grip. _Hurry up, Franklin!_ I don’t know how Franklin manages to steady the car so beautifully, but it seems to drive completely straight despite his second focus on shooting the trunk open. ,em>Bang. It works. I hear the lock disengage. Elwood, scared by the noise, instinctively hits the brakes. _Our time to shine._

I swing open the trunk, and jump out onto the highway, straight into moving traffic and onto the concrete road beneath me.


	25. Seeking Vengeance, Part Two

**_Raton Canyon, Blaine County, San Andreas_ **

I am acutely aware of my descent as I jump from the moving Dubsta, my legs instinctually circling, desperate for ground. _Scrape. Sssccccttttt. Gash._ I can feel my skin being ripped open and apart by the pavement. I finally land after rolling around for what seemed like several agonizing minutes. The pain rushes through me, particularly searing through my thighs and elbows. Franklin comes to a screeching halt just feet before me, and jumps out. He picks me up, setting me carefully in the passenger’s seat before scrambling back in to continue the pursuit. Chop barks at me, leaning forward and cradling his head on my shoulder. 

“Fuck, Phoenix! You’re real hurt right now! Lemme call Trevor and Michael, see where they at. They should be comin’ soon to cap those hillbilly asses.” Franklin says, surveying my wounds. I am openly and profusely bleeding in his car, staining the seat. 

“I’m fine, Franklin. I’ll call Michael.” I dial for Michael. 

“Phoenix?! You’re alive.” Michael opens the conversation with a relieved sound in his voice. It feels good to hear that. _At least he cares sometimes._

“Yeah. I’m fine. Did Trevor see who delivered the truck back to you?” I ask. 

“Yeah. I did. Trust me- that mother fucker didn’t make it out of my yard.” Trevor laugh, mania dripping in every word. Yikes. “You’re okay, Phi?” _Wow, look at these guys protecting you. And you thought they didn’t give a fuck about anyone but themselves._

Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. They’re still only in this to finish off Trevor’s hitlist. Trevor has a stupid, selfish vendetta against an innocent- _innocent? They’re meth dealers!_ \- Okay, an innocent enough family who was making… an… “honest” living. The sweet, sweet stench of capitalism. Trev’s got a pretty unorthodox way of weeding out his competition, but I guess he’s just falling into the free market trap. Anyway, Michael and Franklin are simply carrying out his orders. I just happened to get caught up in it. It’s not a rescue mission; it’s an execution. 

“I’m fine, Trevor,” I state. “Thanks for asking. Wanna tell the rest of them exactly why we’re going after these guys?” I challenge him, seeing if he’ll weigh his options or change his mind. 

“Trust me. The O’Neils, of all people, deserve it. Talk later.” He shuffles with Michael before I hear the dial tone. _Dick._

Following the brothers deep into the canyon, Franklin makes his way down winding roads with very narrow paths. I look over him out the driver’s window, and the sight of the cliffs just inches from the left tires make me nauseous. I take a deep breath, and close my eyes. 

Just then, Franklin screeches to a shaky halt. I lunge forward, and stretch my arms out to avoid hitting the dashboard. My wrists give in, weak from strain and pain. I cry out, and glare at Franklin. “Oh, shiiiiiiit!” 

An elk jumped out into the road, sending the O’Neils barreling down the gravel and off the cliff! Franklin and I jump out; he sends Chop after the boys, disappearing into the forest, and we go check out the wreck. Frank calls T and Michael, and I survey the scene. The Dubsta is completely totaled, and aflame in the front. The seats are empty, so all three of them must have made it out alive. _Trevor will be so disappointed…_

Waiting for air support, Franklin and I run through the forest, searching for life. I’ve got Chop on leash, ready to sic him on anyone that gets too close. Franklin’s armed to the teeth, a semi-automatic in one hand and God-knows-what-else in his deep cargo pockets. As we jog through the woods, I hear a shot from the distance, and a bullet zips by mere feet from us. _What the fuck?_ I look up, and I see a helicopter. In unmistakable red letters on the siding reads _TP Enterprises._ I call them up again. “HELLO? Can you not shoot your friends?” 

“Ahh… heh, sorry. Wrong heat signatures.” A few more shots, and some whooping. They must be doing well. 

It can never go according to plan, though. A spectacular sight lights up the night; a- oh, of fucking course- a rocket soars through the air, directly for the chopper! Thankfully, it explodes on impact, just yards before hitting M and T. I realize I’m holding my breath, and let out a huge sigh. There’s still one more. _Are you going to protect them, Phi?_

Frank and I run in the direction of the launch, but he’s covered himself well in the thick of the forest. It’s easy to follow the sound, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Franklin takes off in the bushes, and I run for the gravel path up the hill. My night vision just ain’t what it used to be. 

Suddenly, I’m hit full-force, the full body weight of whichever damn brother this is take me to the ground. _Oof!_ He flips me over, and Elwood puts his hands around my throat. “Not part of this, my ass! I will revenge myself! I swear on it! Starting with you!” Steadily, the pressure increases on my neck, and the air seems thin. I gasp, desperate in my attempt for tiny bits of air. I fumble for a branch, a rock, my pockets, anything that will help me get him off of me. I feel something in my cargos, and my finger nicks a sharp edge. _The fuck?_ _Shhhhhhhht._ One fluid motion, and the blade of a pocket knife goes deep into my assailant’s gut. It’s not enough to kill him, but it definitely stuns him. I kick him off me just as Franklin comes running over. I quickly stand up, waving my arms that I’m okay. I hear a gun cock behind me, a gun cock in front of me, and I just drop. _Bang._

I look up, and Franklin is still standing. I look back, and the sight makes me revisit my lunch. Elwood was shot point-blank in the face, and there was nothing in the space where his should’ve been except for a tangle of blood and brain matter. I hurl, sickened by the gore. Franklin helps me up, but he’s distracted by whomever he’s speaking to over his headset, barking directions on our location. 

“It’s over, Phoenix. You’re okay. Shit, look at you, girl! It ain’t a gun, but you got the jump on that dude, and protected yourself!” He beams at me. I smile wearily, and he recoils, probably because there’s vomit still clinging to my lips and chin. I wipe it off the best I can, and we stumble back onto the gravel road to wait for our ride home. 

“ALL ABOARD!” The wind from the descending chopper blows my hair all around, and it slaps Franklin as well. Trevor is grinning widely. “PHI! YOU DID IT! You’re over your stupid ‘fear-of-weapons’ thing!” 

Michael and Trevor help Franklin and me in, respectively, and I roll my eyes at Trevor. “It was a knife. Not a gun. Just like it was a baseball bat- not a gun.” I challenge, but Trevor is just staring at my mouth. _The fuck?_

He reaches up, and wipes my mouth with his thumb, caressing my face. I recoil, giving him a confused look. He opens his eyes wide, surprised by my flinch. “Oh- you got a little-” 

_Puke face. Nice look._ I turn away, embarrassed, and wipe my mouth off. “Can we just go?” Michael and Trevor star to disappear into the cockpit, leaving Franklin and I in the cabin. T turns around before sitting down, and mutters, “Hope the pocket knife helped.” He shuts the door behind him. 

He… how the fuck did he slip that into my pocket? 

“Franklin… thanks for looking out for me today. You saved my ass, seriously. At least one of you can keep me safe. I can seem pretty cold or unappreciative sometimes… but you’re a good kid. Thank you.” 

“No problem, Phi,” says Franklin. “Shit, I know these fools are pretty reckless, but we don’t fuck around with friends- or family. And you’re family.”


	26. What You've Trained For

**_Sandy Shores, Blaine County, San Andreas_ **

Despite Franklin’s touching words about family, I’m pretty pissed when I discover they’re pulling another job and didn’t tell me about it. I follow them to Trevor’s- _ahem,_ “gas station”- and listen to them arguing. It’s _“Mrs. Madrazo”_ this and _“I miss my family”_ that. Michael and Trevor present pretty compelling arguments; Michael’s mad at the weird, inappropriate bond Trevor’s formed with Patricia, and Trevor’s upset that Michael only thinks about himself with that whole mess, claiming to miss his family when he ignores them anyway. Truthfully, they’re both right and wrong, but I’m not going to tell them that. 

Let me put this in basic psychology terms. Michael is some twisted fucking version of the superego, posing the deluded belief that he is a voice of reason and moral superiority onto others. He tries to make good decisions- as rational and pragmatic as a criminal can be. He wants to be a few steps ahead, so he can save his sorry ass… and I guess his friends and family, too. Trevor is, obviously, the id. Think of the most savage, uncivilized, unhinged person you can… and Trev would blend him into a protein shake and drink it in front of children. I waited my whole life to become a shrink so I could dig into the brains of the most deviant, perverted people, and analyze the physical and chemical origins of their motives … I guess I kind of got what I asked for. Two deranged idiots bitching about any-fucking-thing under the sun… but they’re my idiots. 

However, I’m more pissed at them for not including me than about their stupid squabble. I charge in, and let loose. 

“I’m your known accomplice living in the area! The least you could’ve done is let me know so I could lay low, keep my face out of harm’s way while you guys take such a massive score!” 

“You won’t help me, anyway! You won’t shoot a fucking gun!” 

“Always about you, Michael! It’s your fault anybody has to do this score in the first place! Just… include me next time, man! I’m flat fucking broke! I can’t even find work, because I have no fucking car!” 

We bicker some more, until Franklin steps in. “Hey! ENOUGH!” _Sigh._ Why is this kid the voice of reason here? I wave gingerly to Lester, who seems happy to see me despite our last encounter over the Merryweather thing. 

“I miss Brad.” Trevor complains, going off about how he’s probably molesting white-collar criminals in prison. I roll my eyes. _Brad was such an asshole… good friend, good worker, but a real asshole. Truthfully, though, if he’s alive, he deserves to get sprung._

We make our way out. I follow Lester, and we take Michael’s car back to the motel where he’s staying. It’s nice to be just Les and me again. He doesn’t seem too mad at me anymore, or he’s just let the idea settle that I’ll probably never stop rolling with M and T’s stupid plans. I slip on a headset, so I can keep communications with the boys and their gunman, Chef. Peering over his shoulder, I notice Lester is monitoring traffic and police chatter. We’ve always had a good system going- he breaks the computer stuff down into manageable pieces, and together, we strategize how to help them in a pinch. The crew is rolling up to the bank now. As soon as the alarm goes off, Lester’s screen lights up, and the police scanner picks up. 

“T. M. Come in. They’re dispatching a single squad for an assessment. I repeat, single squad car.” I’m met with a _Thank youuuu, sugartits!_

“Fuck! It’s the sheriff. We never could’ve beaten that response. Phi, ask Lester how many they’re sending our way!” T barks. 

Lester looks at me nervously. “Mother fucker! The wire is going crazy! They’re dispatching everyone they’ve got, including boat patrol! Tell Franklin to get the fuck out of there!” 

Lester and I work to keep the boys close, and the police away. Traffic light after traffic light to try and congest the roads; fake police calls to divert at least a small fraction of attention; I even thought about planting more bombs at the Sunset Shores trailer park that got blown up near Trevor’s house. _Wait a second-_ Yet, nothing could stop them from bringing in NOOSE, or the- 

“FUCKING ARMY? They’re bringing in the fucking army for a bank in the boondocks?!” I yelled. I got up and stormed out. I had to do something. I ran back to Michael’s car, and took off. 

_Think, Phoenix, think! You won’t shoot, so you’re useless in combat. Franklin is probably getting in on the action since the boat idea’s a bust… getaway… come up with a getaway._ I’ve got it. 

I look around Michael’s car for anything to defend myself. I find a taser and a smaller machete. Works for me. I slip them under my clothing, say a little prayer, and head straight into the train depot. 

_Don’t panic. Don’t breathe funnily. Don’t even look at the guards._ Lester informs me there is a train that passes through Paleto Bay, but too far around the tracks near the bank. _Maybe with a little… “intervention”, we can adjust that._ I’m met with a “Don’t do anything too stupid” from Les. 

I slink my way through the tracks, sat with idle freights. Lester points me in the right direction. Into the train I go. 

It suddenly hits me that I have absolutely ZERO idea how to operate a train. There are so many damn buttons, gears, and switches in front of me. Lester is blabbing in my ear as I skim through my iFruit to find some tutorial. _“You’re not going to find a whole tutorial on STARTING AND MOVING A FREIGHT TRAIN, PHOENIX! THAT’S WHY THE OPERATORS GET TRAINING!”_ Eventually, we get the engine roaring to life; it’s a slow fucking move, so hopefully nobody comes to their senses and boards this thing. I’m off. 

“Franklin, how’s it going?!” Michael’s voice rings in my earpiece. 

“Man, you hear that gunfire? That’s how the fuck I’m doing!” Franklin yells back. I hear nothing for several minutes. I start to get nervous. How do you speed this thing up?! 

_Chug-a-chug-a-chug-a-chug-a._ The train slowly picks up speed; faster and faster I go, with the depot slowly fading into the background. I wipe a bead of sweat off my forehead. I think I might be in the clear. Nobody’s come to stop me, and there’s no radio call-in to give me death threats if I don’t stop. _Whew._

“Another tank on the right! Hang a left!” Trevor yells. _Shit._ If my geography is correct, they’re about to pass the train tracks I’m approaching. 

“GUYS! I’ve diverted a train to head for you! There are some tracks nearby, do you see them?!” I ask. _Oh my god, oh my god! You’re doing something right! You’re actively participating!_

“Are you serious, Phi?! You’re a goddamn life saver! Chef, we just ducked into a chicken factory to get away from the tanks!” Michael breathes a heavy sigh of relief. 

Closer and closer we get to the tracks. I hope to anything holy they can hop on, because I have no fucking clue how to slow this thing down. Trevor can fly a plane, so maybe he can run a train, too. _Yes, because those are even close to the same things._ Shut up. I pull up past the chicken factory, and I can distantly hear the gunfire. 

“Here we go! Right here!” I hear over the mic. I hear some thumping in the car behind me. Excited, I run out to find the boys. 

“Guys! Guys, you made it! I-” All the air is stolen from my lungs by a man in what looks like a NOOSE uniform. He slams me against the wall, grip firmly around my throat. 

“I knew there was more of yas! You’re fuckin’ dead!” He grunts, tightening his grip. _You said you wouldn’t do it again, but it’s time to fight._ I kick him right where it hurts, and he goes down with a walloping _thud._ His helmet falls off, revealing a beefy face, reddened with rage and the need to satiate an appetite for killing some bad guys. I reach into the bottom flap of my cargo pants, and grab the same knife I used on one of those weird hillbilly brothers. Just then, Michael bursts into the car, breathless… and unarmed. The officer looks at him, teeth bared in a weird, snarling grin, and starts to approach him, gun cocked. 

I take a deep breath. I bring the knife up to my ear, elbow pointed straight at his face, the only exposed part of him. _Picture Enya’s head…_ wait. You’re not mad at her. _Picture- picture…_ I picture that blonde asshole Steve Haines’ face, imagine the _“You better watch who you’re fucking talking to, bitch,”_ and fling my arm forward, fingers flexing outward in a gentle stretch. The knife flies in a straight line, too quick for the man to react. _Squishhhh._

His eyes roll up as the blade halts, cleanly slicing through his forehead but stopped at his brain. He sinks to his knees, and sags against the wall. I look to Michael, gaping eyes open in shock. Trevor and Franklin have also appeared, giving me mixed signals with what they saw. 

“That was…” Franklin starts. 

“Phoenix, you are…” Michael begins. 

“HOTT!” Trevor finishes both of their sentences. He runs towards me, and lifts me off the ground, boxing my arms in. “Ohh, look at you! My little girl is a woman again! I’m so proud of you!” 

“Fucking put me down! Jesus Christ!” I exclaim. “There was never any question on whether I’d keep you safe.” T glares at me, clearly frustrated with my full circle to our last argument. He’s about to start, but Michael interrupts. 

“Well… thanks, Phoenix. For all that. You saved our asses with this train. And me, with… whatever that just was. Let’s stop when we’re clear out of town, and split up.” Michael directs. Franklin and Trevor grunt in agreement, and I grin sheepishly. 

“Good idea… except… I don’t know how to stop this thing.” They groan.


	27. D-man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phoenix enjoys a night out... mostly.

**_Vespucci Beach, Los Santos, San Andreas_ **

The last few days I spend at Trevor’s trailer are pretty relaxing. I kick it with T, Mikey, and Patricia; it’s a tight squeeze for sure, but we make it work. Trevor and Michael finally get back into Martin Madrazo’s good graces… and I have to say goodbye to Patricia. I didn’t realize it was going to be so sad; I admit, Trevor and I actually cry a bit over it, to Michael’s obvious disgust. However, I have her number, and can hit her up when I need to. She sends me a text the night Trevor drops her off, claiming she’ll never forget me and the company I gave her while Trevor was out… and to _“give him a chance… he’s a good, good man.”_ Alright, lady. 

We all head back to Los Santos; I hitch a ride with Michael, since it’s been a while since we’ve talked. We spend the long couple of hours back chatting, laughing, and of course, reminiscing on the “good old days.” It never gets old laughing with my best friend. He drops me off at my apartment, and let me tell you, it has never been so good to be home. I run inside, flop onto my bed, and revel in the smell of fresh sheets that don’t faintly stink of urine or any other human waste. 

After a few days, though, I’m lonely again. It was really nice having someone to talk to at all hours of the day. Enya doesn’t answer her phone, and Trevor tells me he’s busy at the strip club right now- whatever that means- so I get all dressed up to head out alone. A golden minidress, some beach waves, and a little makeup later, I’m ready to go. 

I arrive at Pub 44 ready to get my drink on. I must look human for once, because I haven’t paid for a single drink thus far. _And still, you know you won’t take any of these men home._ True; not because they’re unattractive, or not my type, but… I don’t know, they’re not- _Trevor?_ Ew. No. They’re not… I don’t know. Interesting? 

I’m sipping on a bourbon sour when I feel someone’s eyes on me. It’s a feeling you can’t shake after over 20 years of this life. I glance over, and see an extremely handsome man looking back at me, eyebrows cocked in thought as he sips some fruity drink. He’s very lean, wearing a tight, light blue dress shirt that accentuates his toned arms, and his long legs are casually stretched out underneath the table. He notices me checking him out, and winks. I purse my lips, and turn back around. 

Just like clockwork, I feel a gust of air as the seat next to me occupies. “Please forgive me for the intrusion. I know you’re trying to have a good time alone here. I just couldn’t help but notice…” 

_“‘That you’re so beautiful, sexy, gorgeous, would you like to go home with me?’”_ I playfully mock, facing the bar. Instead of fucking off somewhere like a normal guy would, he laughs. _This_ gets my attention. I turn slightly to face him. He’s got nice blue eyes- not as nice as Michael’s, but they’re still pretty; a wide button nose, and a soft shade of two-day growth to his chin and cheeks. He’s pretty good looking, but I think he knows it. 

“Good one. Yes, I admit, I was going to call you gorgeous, but I’m not so desperate I’d attempt to sleep with you without at least knowing your name.” 

“I think that’s on a need-to-know basis. Why don’t you tell me yours first?” 

“Sassy. I like it. Maybe we’ll keep the anonymity. It’s fascinating.” He raises his glass towards me, and I clink it in response. He smiles at me, and we drink. This stranger and I talk for a while; he tells me he’s in business, and enjoys traveling in his work. I tell him I’m a businessperson of sorts, too- _That’s technically true. If the business is robbing people._ We talk about sports, guns, cars; he has plenty to say, and he seems to be a little knowledgeable in everything we touch base on. But is he… “interesting?” We’ll see. 

“So, stranger… I’ve had a wonderful evening with you, and I don’t necessarily want the night to end. I’m not asking you to sleep with me, but… would you like to take this elsewhere?” He asks with a false innocence I find kind of sexy. I smile with a little half-smirk that he eats up. 

“You know what? Let’s do it.” I say, grabbing my purse. He grins. As we’re walking out, my phone rings. I look at the caller ID- it’s Trevor. 

“Hey, T, I’m kind of doing som-” I stop myself when I hear heavy sobs. _Is he- is he crying?_ “Trevor? You alright? What’s going on?” The man I’m with perks up. 

I cover my speaker with my shoulder. “I just have to take this. It’s my best friend.” 

“Don’t be long.” He winks, taking a few steps back to give me some privacy. A man runs up to him, clapping him on the shoulder. “D-man! What’s up?” _Interesting nickname._ I bring my focus back to Trevor. 

“Trevor? Talk to me.” 

“Phoenix.” He musters. 

“What, no sugartits?” 

“Phoenix.” _Full name, twice in a row. He’s upset. Proceed with caution._

“What’s going on?” Again, I hear some muffling, heavy breathing… then nothing. “Trevor? Trevor! Talk to me, Philips!” Again, there’s nothing. “Where are you?” 

“Are you okay? Are you safe?” 

“Yes? I’m fine, I’m in town. What’s going on?” 

Cue heavy breathing. “I need you. I need you so much right now.” 

“Trevor, I’m coming. Where are you?” With an angry breath, he mumbles _“I’m on my way over.” Click._ He hangs up. I break into a sweat; when Trevor is so upset he actually shuts his mouth, that’s bad news. I look over at the handsome stranger waiting to take me home. “Hey. Something came up. I’m really sorry, but it’s an emergency. I’ve got to go.” 

“No problem. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around.” He smiles, and heads over to his car. “Need a ride?” 

“No, thank you. I’m good.” I add my number to his phone, but pause at the name entry. “We haven’t actually properly introduced yet. I’m Phoenix. What was your name?” I type it in as he watches me carefully. He slips into his car, and rolls down the window. 

“Phoenix. Gorgeous name. Gorgeous girl. My name? Devon. Devon Weston.”


	28. Digging Up Deception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trevor shares a startling discovery with Phoenix.

**_Vespucci Beach, Los Santos, San Andreas_ **

I apologize profusely to Devon before slipping away, but he assures me I’ll see him again. I race home as fast as I can and slip in seconds before Trevor arrives. I open the door, and he charges in; he’s covered in blood, and he’s cussing under his breath. _Ohhhhh, boy._ He storms through the door and stops abruptly. He turns around, glaring at me. His eyes illuminate a pain I’ve never seen before. This is a different kind of aching; I take one look at Trevor, and I feel my eyes welling up. 

“What’s going on, Trevor?” I ask solemnly. He continues to just look at me- not at my minidress, which left nothing to the imagination; not with a half-assed joke and an obvious peek at my cleavage; just a piercing gaze that showed deep, deep hurting. Two entire minutes of unbreakable eye contact occur before he finally speaks. 

“I was just in Ludendorff.” 

My heart skips a beat. _North Yankton? Why? Why would he revisit a ghost town with ghostly memories?_ “You were?” 

“Mhm.” He nods, starting to pace. It’s eerily quiet, with only the sound of his footsteps against my hardwood living room floor. “Phoenix. I’m going to ask you this once, because I trust you with my life, and I know you won’t lie to me. You are all I have left, Phoenix. Do. Not. Lie to me.” 

My eyes open wide, and I’m stiff with fear. “Trevor… what is it?” 

He takes a step closer, and I take a step back, but I hit the wall. He steps closer again until he is inches from my face. The smell of copper is overwhelming, and I feel nauseated at the sight of all the blood on his shirt. “You’re scaring me.” 

He blinks hard and widens his gaze. He takes a step back. He grabs my hand with both of his, rubbing over the scars and callouses with his dirty fingers. “Did you know?” 

“Did I know what, T?” 

“DID YOU KNOW THAT BRAD’S BEEN DEAD THIS WHOLE TIME?!” His voice grows louder and louder, and he punches the wall by the coat closet, easily tearing through the drywall. He’s about to land another one, but I grab his fist, calmly lowering it. He stares at me, tears brewing, and lets one fall. I grab him by the biceps, and move him to the couch with a gentle touch. He puts his head in his hands. I squat down in front of the couch to get eye level with him. 

“Brad’s dead. Brad is fucking dead. He’s in Michael’s grave.” _What?!_

“Are you sure?” I venture timidly. 

“Yes, I’m fucking sure! I dug the grave up myself!” _… What now?_ “He’s buried in Michael’s place. Michael Townley betrayed us all, Phi.” His voice quivers with my name. “He fucking betrayed us. He sold us to the feds. We were all supposed to die that day.” 

“But was it really before the depot job? Was he really selling us out? Or what if he only made the deal after? What if he got shot, and only made the deal on his deathbed?” 

“Think, Phoenix, think! I was wanted by the feds long before that; they’ve had me on their shit list for years. Not only that, but I’ve been under military radar since failing my psych evaluation. You’re the daughter of a world-famous East Coast gangster; you’re a prison-psychologist-gone-rogue who joined a two-bit gangster once he was sprung from YOUR care… and Brad? Well, Brad was with us! It was a setup! It was ALL a setup! We were supposed to go to prison that day. And I think…” He trails off, clearly crying at this point. “I think the bullet that nicked Brad was supposed to be for me. I think I was supposed to die anyway.” 

I am truly and utterly speechless. When he frames his thinking like that, it all makes sense. Perfect. Sense. Michael… That fat fucking snake. My best friend. My confidant. My rock. It was.. _it was all a lie. All of it. He played you from the start._ How much of our friendship was based on deception? On lies? _Do you hear me? All of it!_ We still had some good times, though… we had great times. The three of us had so much fun together… and when Lester was there, it was even better… and it almost started feeling normal again with Franklin… and now? I feel like I don’t even know who I am anymore. 

Trevor stands up suddenly, nearly knocking me over. I follow him into my kitchen, where he sits at a counter stool and rests his head in his hands. I grab him a beer from the fridge, but he just circles the top of the bottle with his finger. 

“That mother fucker is dead to me, Phoenix. I don’t know what you are going to do, but he is _nothing_ to me. You hear me? DEAD!” He chugs the beer as fast as he can, then throws the bottle down, shattering it. 

“Trevor! My home! Stop breaking things.” I grab the broom and dustpan. I start sweeping, but he takes them from me and does it himself with a dismissive, gruff _I just got angry-_ I guess I forgive him for not apologizing this time. “And I hear you, T. I… I don’t know what I’m going to do.” 

“I gotta help Franklin and Lamar do this score for some billionaire dickweed they’ve been working for… and I don’t know what I’m going to do after that. Are you with me, Phi?” 

“Of course, Trevor.” 

“Can I stay here tonight?” His puppy-dog eyes are awful- just terrible, really- but I’m so angry and hurt by this news, I don’t really care either way. 

“Well, you ruined my others plans… so yeah.” We walk to my bedroom. 

“Hold up a minute… were you wearing that dress this entire time?”


	29. The Morning After

**_Vespucci Beach, Los Santos, San Andreas_ **

Trevor stays over, and I wake up to an empty bed again. I roll over and check my messages. Nothing. Hmmm. _He would usually wake me up with a message that he’s just awoken from a deep slumber in a hayfield, where he probably had some weird hillbilly orgy._ I stroll into the kitchen, where T is drinking coffee, rifling through magazines I have laying around. 

“Oh Em Gee, Phi! Did you like, hear about Kam Kardisha-who-gives-a-fuck and her husband? They broke up! Their marriage was about as long as one of my prison stints…” 

I laugh, heading for the pot. “Wow. I didn’t know you for a follower of celebrity lifestyle.” 

“I’m not. I abhor celebrities.” He shuts the magazine. “But, I’ve been helping out this weird old couple to collect some souvenirs around Vinewood. It’s… refreshing. Reminds me of my life up in Blaine County, and how perfectly content I am there. Way better than this stain of a city.” 

I give him a quick “uh-huh”, acknowledging his raving about how horrible Los Santos is as I sip my coffee and check my texts. _One unread message._

_“Hey, Phoenix. Devon here. Wanted to know if we could finish what we started. D”_

_“Hey, D-man. I’ll let you know asap. PM”_

Trevor notices my lack of engagement. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d take you for a typical millennial. What, with the oversized sweatshirt and undies-” He fake growls, staring at my legs. “Texting, not giving a fuck what’s going on in the REAL world around you. Have you and Franklin switched bodies?” 

“Shut it, T.” I laugh. “I’m trying to make up for the night I ended abruptly, and the person I bailed on to be with you.” 

“Oh? I thought you were just drinking.” Trevor’s eyes narrow. 

“I was… and I, uh… I met someone there. He was friendly, and we talked a lot. We were going to… hang… out…” My voice gets quieter and quieter with the dark expression that covers Trev’s face. 

Trevor cracks his knuckles, and stretches his neck in a circular motion. “Great. Two betrayals in the span of a day.” 

“Oh, shut up. Let’s just focus on what we’re going to do about the one.” 

“Yeah,” Trevor starts. “Well, hopefully Michael dies within the next 48 hours, so I can just worry about whatever scumfuck was trying to pick you up at the bars.” 

I roll my eyes. “Trevor, it’s not that deep.” 

“Isn’t it?” His voice gets a little more serious now. “Really, Phi? You’re fucking around with other guys, and you wanna say it’s ‘not that deep’?” 

I peer over my coffee cup at him, deadpanned. “Trevor. It’s not ‘other guys’ if I don’t have one to begin with.” He suddenly gets up, and walks over to me. He places his hands on either side of the counter next to me, and looks down on me, as if to give some unspoken contract of his loyalty. He tilts his head in curiosity, daring me to make the next move. Instead, I sip my coffee, watching his stare grow more and more intense. 

“What’s his name?” He asks, trying with futility to appear innocent, like he just wants to know what’s going on in my life rather than the fact that he’s going to go out and murder this guy. 

“Oh, his name’s Trevor, too, actually. Trevor Dicklips.” I laugh, but he doesn’t share the sentiments. 

“There are two things in my life I don’t play games with, Phoenix. This way of life, and you. What’s his name?” 

“Don’t worry about it, Trevor. I probably won’t be seeing him anytime soon, anyway. We’ve got stuff to do.” 

Trevor leans his head down a little bit closer, and I start to forget what was happening. It gets so hard to think when he’s this close to me. His eyes are so dark and mysterious; his mouth is so inviting. _Don’t think about the consequences, don’t think about the consequences, don’t think about the consequences-_

_“I’m never safe with you! I never have been!”_ I look down, breaking contact. He picks my chin up, resting it on his forefinger and stroking it with his thumb. _Don’t, don’t, don’t. Or do… Maybe do. Let’s do it._ I set my coffee down, and let my hands fall on his bare chest. He grabs the small of my back, leans in, and- 

Trevor’s phone starts ringing a high-pitched, obnoxious alarm. _Mood killer._ He steps back in surprise, and I feel the slightest brush of his lips as he does so. He snarls in frustration at the caller. “Lamar Davis. This better be good. I was about to do something way better than talking to you. Oh. Yeah. Uh. I’ll be there soon.” He hangs up. “Fuck!” He looks to me. 

“Well… it’s billionaire dickweed time. Wanna join? We can finish this… later. I hate to say this,” He pouts. “But get dressed.”


	30. Shut Up, Lamar!

**_Paleto Bay, Blaine County, San Andreas_ **

Trevor and I drive to some garage in Strawberry, kind of near where Franklin used to live. There’s a giant industrial truck with a cage in the back, the ones for larger-scale tow jobs. Not too long after we arrive, a beautiful yellow Pegassi Monroe zips into the lot and up onto the Packer. I hear an unfamiliar voice- “There she is, homie! We straight!” Out jumps Franklin and who I presume to be Lamar Davis. 

He’s a very tall, gangly guy wearing an oversized olive shirt over a long-sleeved black one, with sagging light-wash jeans. Something about a “bust ass n-word”, and “get your ass in the truck,” and I can tell he and Franklin have known each other for a very long time. Trevor opens the door, and they climb in first, with Lamar holding out his hand in support for me with a _“Helllooooo, gorgeous!”_ I laugh, and climb in. 

It is a tight fit. Franklin and Lamar are fighting for space like two teenage boys, and Lamar subsequently squishes me between him and Trevor. Trevor, of course, doesn’t mind this at all. When we’re settled, Franklin decides to take a nap. Not a bad idea, after once again feeling Trevor toss and turn all night; whether he was crying for Mrs. Madrazo in his sleep, or just pretending to be asleep while trying to cuddle me (to which he’d receive a swift kick in the boys), he- and in turn, I- was restless. I lean my head back, and try to doze off. 

I zone in and out of my slumber, hearing a few garbled words along the way. 

“Just let them sleep.” 

“A liar. Above all else, a fucking liar.” 

“When actually, Brad was in the ground, and Michael was hiding.” 

“Because of Michael, I lost everybody I loved. Including this one.” 

I want to ask what the fuck he’s talking about to this guy we barely know, but my brain and body are too relaxed from slumber. I give into my exhaustion, slump over on Lamar’s shoulder, and pass out. 

…

I awaken from the sound of my own snoring. I apologetically wipe my drool off Lamar’s shoulder. 

“…Fucking Devon Weston.” Trevor finishes. _Wait a minute…_

“How do you guys know Devon Weston?” I ask. Trevor looks distraught. 

“Uh, he’s the asshole we’re doing this job for. The billionaire dickweed I mentioned last night. How do YOU know Devon Weston?” 

“Uh…” I’m not sure if I want to answer the question. Devon’s the guy they’ve been working for? Why is he a dickweed? I thought he was funny, smart, classy… also, a billionaire? A billionaire was in a club, flirting with me? _Now’s not the time for an ego trip._

Trevor makes me right away. “No. Phoenix. No. TELL me that’s not the guy you met last night before I picked you up.” _Fuck. I forget he’s smart sometimes._

“I- Listen, he- he didn’t mention-” I start. 

“PHI. Devon fucking Weston? You are SHITTING me!” 

“Y’all was together last night? Trevor, I thought you liked man meat!” 

“SHUT UP LAMAR!” 

I get really nervous the closer we get to the drop-off point. If Devon is there, Trevor is going to go nuts. I don’t have much time to think about it, though, because, almost on cue, the sound of police sirens wail in the distance. Judging by the sound, there’s at least five of them. _Fuuuuck._

Through the streets of tiny-town Paleto Bay we go, one-time hot on our trail. Franklin climbs out of the Packer and straps in to one of the cars- apparently it’s tricked out with ammo and spikes. Shots fire from all around us. I feel so helpless. 

“Franklin? You okay?” I snatch Trevor’s headset to keep tabs on him. 

“Yeah, Phoenix. It’s aight. I’m getting’ these goons off our asses. Sit tight.” 

Just then, my phone rings. Caller ID says Devon Weston. _Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit._ Trevor glances over, and shouts. 

“Oh-ho-ho! What impeccable timing! Answer it!” Before I can say no, he grabs my phone and clicks the call button, and puts it on speakerphone. 

“Hello? Phoenix? Are you-” 

“DEVON! Hello, sir!” 

“Who the hell is this?” Devon inquires. 

“Your worst fucking nightmare.” 

“Trevor Philips! The creepy one! So YOU were the Trevor that Phoenix had to ruin my night for! Sad. I don’t like being embarrassed, Trevor.” 

“And I don’t like that you’d try to take advantage of my girl, Devon.” He puts his hand over my mouth before I can protest. 

“Your girl, huh? How… disappointing. Well, please send my warmest regards to Phoenix. I’ll be sure to send some flowers to her funeral if she’s hanging around a psychopath like you for fun. Be sure to get my cars to Molly!” 

I rip Trevor’s hand off my mouth. “Devon, wait-” _Click._ Wow. He _is_ an asshole. 

“God dammit, Trevor!” I yell. “You had no right to say that!” 

“Say what? The truth? Come on, Phi, he’s disgusting!” 

“Yeah, I guess! But I’m NOT your girl, so stop fucking telling people that! YOU don’t get to interfere with my life like that!” I cross my arms. He shrugs. 

“So, back in your kitchen- and in your bathroom that other time- you’re not any part of that? It’s just ME interfering with your life? You’re sending me mixed signals, babe!” 

“Ew! You two getting’ freaky? Damn, T! I’m startin’ to think you maybe bisexual or someth’n!” 

“Shut UP, Lamar!”


	31. The Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phoenix confronts Michael over his treachery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: One very brief reference to su*cide.

**_Rockford Hills, Los Santos, San Andreas_ **

I need a little time away from Trevor after the day in the Packer, both for my sanity and because we all needed to separate after the whole ordeal with the police. I take the time to refocus my energy on Michael, and what I want to do about it. 

Michael betrayed us. Everybody he claimed to care about. He broke up our whole group, and we’ve had to pick up the pieces, carelessly scattered around the past 10 years of our lives. I lived a whole decade where I contemplated just… just… _just ending it._ I was so lost, so confused, and so hurt for so long. I mourned the loss of not one friend that day, but three. I was on the run for years; I couldn’t go home to Liberty City, because I had an angry family who I abandoned, and rival gangs who would jump at the chance to recruit or execute the best markswoman on the East Coast; I couldn’t stay in the Midwest, because I’m on their shit list, too; the only choice was to run West to the city of make-believe, where I could run from the reality that my life here on Earth is limited and fucked. 

I spend the day in my room, blackout curtains drawn. I sit in the darkness, dwelling on the frustration pent up. I need to speak to Michael, and today. I need him to know how much he’s hurt us, and how willing I am to go the extra mile to ensure he doesn’t do the same to Franklin. But still, what he did was almost 10 years ago… and being with him again has truly helped in healing. Do I forgive and forget? Do I just cut my losses, and live out the rest of my life happy that I’m still alive? _Don’t forget Brad…_ he got Brad killed. By extension, he killed Brad. How can I just let that go? Brad was a lot of things, but he was loyal, too. And that fucking Dave Norton, the guy who shot them both… the guy who coerced Michael into it… God. I need a drink, and I need to think. 

After tossing and turning, thinking, and finally feeling like I might go crazy if I don’t do something, I check my phone again. _16 missed calls. 5 unheard voicemails. 8 unread texts._ Who the fuck is this invested in talking to me? 

“Franklin, what’s going on?” I ask. 

“Jesus Christ, Phoenix! Where the fuck you been? I was trying to reach you all day.” Franklin barks at me, obviously frustrated. 

“Sorry Franklin, I was… indisposed.” I am brief in my words, because I don’t want him to know I spent the whole day in bed. 

“Well, I was trying to tell you that Michael got kidnapped by some Chinese gangsters, but I already rescued him and shit. You alright?” He asks, cautious with my shortness. 

“Oh, I’m just great. Where are you now?” I ask. _Chinese gangsters… like maybe the three men who showed up at the trailer that one time? Fuck, what do they have to do with Michael? That seems more like a Trevor mess._

“Headed to Michael’s place.” _Click._ I hang up, and head outside for the nearest taxi I can hail. 

The moment we hit Portola Drive, I’m out of the taxi, running uphill towards him. The maddening rage I feel feels like a toxin in my body that I need to shake as soon as possible. I hear Franklin and Michael as I approach- “Man, you burned every mother fucker you’ve ever known!” 

“You’re goddamn right!” I yell. I launch myself towards Michael, but stop when I see his bruised face. His left eye is swollen shut; a giant purple mark starts at his forehead and trickles down to his worry lines; there are two big gashes on either side of his temples; his right eyebrow is scratched so badly that there’s hair missing. His nose is split open on the bridge, and that blood definitely made his way onto his white tank. It’s covered in blood, most of it probably not his. I can’t bring myself to inflict any more damage after seeing that. 

“Phoenix…” Michael starts. I hold up my hand. 

“No. No. For once, you’re going to shut your mouth, and you’re going to listen. Franklin, do you want the real, whole truth on what Michael did back in Ludendorff? Here’s your one-time offer for a tell-all: ‘Michael’s Deception’ by Phoenix Mare!” I gesture with my arms like it’s some beautiful book offer. 

“I- I don’t know, Phoenix. That sounds like some shit ya’ll gotta work out.” Franklin states, backing up. “I need a minute to think about this. Michael… man, you watch your back, aight? When Trevor finds out you still alive…” 

“Trevor thinks you’re dead?” I ask. 

“Trevor’s the one who got me kidnapped in the first place!” Michael shrieks. _I knew it was a Trevor thing._

Franklin looks completely defeated. He knows the truth now. It hurts to see him look so betrayed. I feel a sinking sense of shame as I remember that I deliberately kept the truth from him, too. And now he’s devastated that he was brought into this on a higher scale than he’s ever known, just to be stabbed in the back by his mentors. As he walks away, my eyes swell with tears; both with guilt and with happiness that he’s at least going to sleep another night alive and well. 

I turn back to Michael. “You are a treacherous, duplicitous piece of shit! I’ll keep Trevor off your back for now, but I can’t control him forever. I hate you for what you did to us. To Trevor. To Brad. To me.” _Tell him, sister!_

“You have manipulated, beguiled, and lied your way into, out of, and back into this life again, and you stabbed all of us in the back the process. I fucking MOURNED YOU! I saw your grave. I cried over that grave. Real fucking sentimental or symbolic or whatever that I still cried over Brad’s fucking corpse, but thinking you were six feet under for 10 years… my best friend, my partner, my whole life! I trusted you! You made me believe I could trust you! Fuck you, Michael! Fuck you! Fuck you!” I’m actively sobbing as I scream. And Michael just watches me. 

Wow. That was cathartic. Michael just watches me as I wipe my tears away, trying to reappear stoic. 

“Phoenix… Let’s go inside, please. Let’s talk about this.” He puts his hand on the small of my back to lead me inside. We get past the gate when I stop. 

“I have nothing else to say, Michael. I- I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t trust you, but I don’t trust you’ll keep Franklin safe, and I don’t trust you won’t hurt Trevor.” 

“Phoenix. Please. Let’s just talk about this inside. I don’t want anyone else hearing any of this.” I watch a few cars park on the other side of the street; a dingy black van, a yellow Ocelot (cry), and a shiny white sports car all park on the street, presumably belonging to some of the neighbors. I nod, and we head inside. 

We go to the kitchen, and Michael pulls out two glasses and a bottle of whiskey. He pours me a shot, and I take it neat. He pours me another one, and I just circle the rim with my finger. “Phoenix… please let me explain.” 

“You don’t want to explain, Michael, and I don’t want you to. You’re not explaining, you’re justifying. I don’t care what it is; you can’t justify turning your back on your allies like that.” 

“You guys had nothing to lose, okay, Phoenix? I did. I had a fucking family to look after! I couldn’t let Amanda, Tracey, or Jimmy get hurt because of my actions. It was a bad judgment call. I never wanted to hurt you.” 

“How can you say that when you deliberately cut a deal before the job? You DID want to hurt us. You premeditated it!” I yell. I throw down the next shot and slam the glass on the counter. He pours me another one. 

“I missed you so much, Phoenix. Trust me. And I missed you most of all.” 

My heart aches hearing this. I pound another shot. “You never had to miss me. I would’ve helped you find a way out. I would’ve tried to make Trevor see it that way. You know I would have.” 

“Look, Phoenix, no matter how much you think you can control Trevor, you can’t. If he feels betrayed, or hurt in any way, he’s absolutely devastated. There’s no way you can honesty tell me you would’ve made a difference in the matter. He already didn’t like Amanda; you know that. He would’ve probably had no problem killing me, or worse… her. Or one of the kids.” 

This really angers me. “Trevor wouldn’t have laid a finger on the kids, and you know that. Not Amanda, either. He’s a deluded psychopath with an affinity for women’s clothing and a murderous streak… but he is loyal beyond all measure. He would _never_ go out of his way to betray you the way you did to us. Never.” Shot number four down. I’m starting to feel the alcohol tickle my blood. I scratch at my arms. 

“Why do you always fucking defend him? He’s put your life at risk so many times!” 

“Because you try to manipulate me into thinking he’s in the wrong for all of this! He is obviously responsible for a lot of bad things happening to us, but at least he didn’t do it on purpose! You set us up!” I grab the bottle and take a long pull from it. _Oof._ Not a good idea. I’m starting to feel pretty tipsy. “If you’ll excuse me, Michael, I need some time to think. I’m leaving.” 

“Can I drive you home?” 

“No. I’ll take a-” _Buuuuuurp._ “taxi.” I storm out. 

I’m in downtown Portola Drive before I realize that: one, I am too far from home to walk; and two, I went the entire opposite way of where I’m supposed to be. I’m too proud to ask Michael for a ride, nor would he care enough to try and find me. I call the only person I know won’t judge me. 

“Phi! What can I do you for?” 

“Trevor, I jush- I just don’t feel so guuuuud. Can you- can you come and getmeprettypleeeeeeeeease?” 

“Are you drunk?" 

“No.” I giggle incessantly. “Maybe.” 

“Stay where you are. I’m coming.”


	32. Orange Panties, Pink Cheeks, and White Cars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't be mad at me for this one.

**_Vespucci Beach, Los Santos, San Andreas_ **

I’m walking around downtown, chatting with two random men, when I see the Bodhi come barreling in. Trevor jumps out, and heads straight for me. 

“Phi. Let’s go.” He grabs my arm, and leads me away. 

“What’s the rush, man? We were just talking.” One of the guys chimes in, following us. 

“Oooooooooh. Sirrrr, you do not want to make him angry. That’s-” _Hiccup._ “Treva- Trevor Philipsssssss.” I lean in real close, and whisper. _“I think I love him.”_

“What, Phi?” 

“Nothing. Let’s go!” 

We get in, and Trev takes off for my house. I trip up the steps, and fumble with my keys opening the door. Trevor has me by the hand the entire time, catching me each time I stumble. _Yup. You drank a bit too much._

I lay down on my bed, kicking off my shoes. Trevor stops me as I unbutton my shirt. “What’s the matter? You’ve never had a problem wanting to see me naked before.” 

Laughing, Trevor replies, “When you’re sober and consenting, maybe.” 

I suddenly feel compelled to throw my arms over his shoulders, embracing him in a hug. He hesitates, then hugs me back exceptionally tight. “Thank youuuuu, T. I don’t know I would’ve ever gotten out of there if you hadn’t picked me up! Where were we? Liberty City?” 

He grimaces. “No, Phi. You were over in Rockford Hills. Why are you so drunk?” 

“Well, I got real upset about what you said about Michael betraying us and stuff… so I kinda got really drunk… is it a coping mechanism? Suuuuure. It probab-ab-ably is. I’m so sad, Trevor. He screwed the pooch with us, and now Braddy Boy is dead. I’m so sad, Trevor. Why did he do that? I’m so sad, Trevor.” 

“Yeah… uh, I know, Phi. I’m sad, too.” He sits me down on my bed. “Listen, I think you should take a nice shower, and I’m going to get you some water. Is that okay?” 

So, he turns my shower on, and shuts the door as I once again start stripping. As the water runs over me, I start to gather my thoughts a little bit, and I feel the sinking in the pit of my stomach as I start to sober up. I wrap myself in towels, and go back into my room. Trevor is shirtless, rifling through my drawer. 

“What are you doing?” I inquire, sipping from the glass of water he brought me. 

“Well, I’m not leaving you here to choke on your own vomit while you sleep. I need something other than jeans to sleep in… cuz’ I’m kind of commando right now.” 

I shrug, thinking nothing of it in my still-slightly-inebriated state. “Okay.” I flop down on my bed in my towels, and I don’t remember much after that. 

…

When I wake up the next morning, my head doesn’t hurt too badly. Thank God. _What a night you had, idiot. Remember any of it?_ Fuzzy. I feel that I’m dressed… hopefully T didn’t peep when he sloppily threw his flannel over my head. I open my eyes, and almost scream when I see Trevor. I remember him staying over; I’m just so used to him being gone by the time I get up that it’s a shock to see him. His arm is slumped over my body, pulling me in- sounds romantic, but it won’t most likely to keep me from rolling on my back and vomiting back into my own mouth. _Your knight in shining armor!_

His eyes flutter open slowly, like he’s awakening from a deep and peaceful slumber. His eyes lock onto mine instantly, and he smiles. “Good morning. How are you feeling sugartits?” 

I laugh, rolling away and out from his grip. “I’m fine. Thank you. And… thank you. For real. I don’t remember half the shit I said, but it was probably stupid.” 

“Oh, it wasn’t stupid… just a little bit about how you think you love me, and you’re so thankful for me, and all that mushy-gushy-ushy shit.” He peels back the blanket and jumps up, and I could never have embraced myself for what I see next. 

Trevor is donning a pair of my panties- lace-lined hip-huggers, neon orange in color and decorated with little white airplanes. I am so, so deeply embarrassed that he found them, but the shame evaporates upon seeing him actually wearing them. I cannot stop myself from laughing- a deep belly laugh that I haven’t felt in a long time. I feel it all the way in my stomach, almost like it’s beating against my body and lifting my heart up. I hold the door as I wipe tears away. 

“What. The. Fuck. Are. You. Wearing.” I manage to spit out in between laughs. He proudly shows them off. _He’s proudly showing something else off, too, if you know what I mean._ Ew. _Girl, this is YOUR subconscious._

“Hey, now. These were the most appropriate ones in your drawers! I needed to wear something- I had nothing on under those jeans!” 

“Well,” I continue to giggle, but stop upon remembering the reason I bought them in the first place. “Those are truly my favorite pair.” I take a step closer, and slap Trevor’s butt. He’s so surprised, he lurches forward, knocking me backwards. I stumble a little, and that alone causes me to erupt into laughter again. 

No humor or pride could stop the spread of the violently pink blush spread across Trevor Philips’s cheeks. “Holy shit, Phi! This is a clear violation of boundaries! 

“But your favorite, huh?” He takes a step closer, pulling me in by my hips. “Do you think of your favorite pilot in the whole wide world when you put these on?” He smirks that stupid half-smile that I love so much. _Don’t think this time, don’t think this time, don’t think this time-_

Is this what life is like for regular people? Is this the life we’d live if we weren’t criminals? Could I really wake up every morning to someone like Trevor? Is he a total nut because of the life, or was he always this way? Would he make a good partner, or can’t he detach himself from temptations? All these questions burn into my head while he stares at me. 

I don’t think it could ever be this way. Not for long. One of us will get killed. One of us will be used to hurt the other. And, particularly with someone like Trevor, I cannot get past the feeling that I’ll always be in danger. We could never be peaceful. We could never be- 

_Aaaaaand finally, you’ve shut up._ Yup. I cannot think straight, because Trevor initiates an intense kiss we’ve been waiting on for, what, 30 chapters? His mouth locks onto mine, and every doubt I had just washes away; a tide of passion overwhelms me, and my brain just melts. He pulls me in as close as he can, as though he’s afraid I’ll stop any time soon. It’s so strong, and aggressive, and wanting. All the pent-up tension we’ve been holding in for so long is so present in this kiss. It’s what I’ve wanted since the day he strolled out of my bathroom and into my life after 10 years of missing him. He doesn’t try anything more; this isn’t some overused sexual trope where we’re groping at each other, stumbling to the bed, or bouncing off the walls ripping our clothes off. It’s just… I don’t know. Very _Trevor and Phoenix._

And just like that, before I could even revel in that perfect moment, it’s ripped apart from us. Literally. I hear a loud pop, and I fall before T can even try to catch me. 

I remember a searing pain in my leg, and being shoved to the ground. I remember a huge thud and a shout. Before I fall into blackness, I remember the feeling of floating- pure weightlessness, before I land into a slick white car with a thud, and daylight disappears.


	33. What You've Actually Trained For

**_Sandy Shores, Blaine County, San Andreas_ **

When I awaken, I’m lying on my side. I rub my eyes, and it takes all of four seconds to realize the intense, sickening pain in my leg. I look down at where a bullet tore into my right calf, and I can’t stop the blood-curling scream I let out. _Fuck. Fuck. Don’t panic._ I have no meds in my pocket, but my heart is running haywire. I look and realize I’m in… Trevor’s trailer? _How the fuck did you end up in Sandy Shores?_

The cold, hard floor is killing my back, but I can’t move without pain shooting through my leg. I prop myself up to my elbows; as my vision comes to, I see Trevor. He’s tied up to a wooden chair, hands bound behind him and legs strapped to the chair’s legs. He’s got a gag stuffed tightly in his mouth, slightly falling out as his whole head hangs down. I tearfully stare at him, wondering how I’m going to get over there. I hear the front door open, and in walks- 

_Yes! Great timing, sis!_ “Enya! Oh my god! I can’t believe you’re here. Thank God! Help me up!” Yet, Enya just stands there, motionless, poker-faced. “Enya? Come on, girl! I have to check on Trevor, and get out of here!” 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Nix.” 

“What do you mean? Of course you can!” 

“No, Phoenix. I mean, I won’t.” 

I think long and hard. I know. “Enya. What did you do?” The tears start to fall. “WHAT DID YOU DO?” 

My sister just stares at me with the devilish demeanor I thought had finally disappeared. I thought she had really changed, but she hasn’t changed at all. And now, we’re in danger. Trevor’s in danger. _FUCK!_

“Listen, sis… I told you to make a choice years ago. I told you to stay. Daddy is very unhappy. He wants you back home by any means necessary. If you won’t come home to rebuild the Mares in Liberty City, I swore I’d bring this to you. To your home. I swore to Father that I would destroy any happiness you had anywhere, from North Yankton to San Andreas.” 

“North Yankton? What do you mean?” I tremble from the weight on my elbows, but I won’t let her out of my sight. 

“You were running with some very famous criminals. Michael Townley? You think he’s the only one who has close ties to the FIB?” 

Oh my god. Oh. My God. “What?” _Can you muster out a little more than “what?” Use your fucking head, Phi._

“No shit, Phoenix. You think a quiet, passive idiot like Dave Norton would actually be the brains behind convincing Townley to betray his friends?” 

All the memories of Ludendorff come back to me. The terror in watching Brad and Michael go down; the shock and subsequent petrification that came when Trevor threw me into the chopper, sacrificing himself to save me another run from the police; the regret and survivor’s guilt that sent me spiraling into drinking, smoking, dealing, and gambling my life away. And it was all my fault. It was because of me that the FIB even reached out to Michael; it was because of me that Michael was even tempted to lure us out for that ill-fated heist. I’d blamed myself for so long that I couldn’t protect them with weapons… but in reality, I couldn’t protect them from my past. My family. My sister. 

“How could you do this to me? We’re family. You’re my family.” I plead. 

“No. We WERE family. Until you left me.” Enya’s voice breaks. “You know what kind of person Father is. You know how hard he was on us. And after his prodigy left, he tried to sculpt me into you. You don’t know what that does to a person. And then, Mom-” She stops. 

No. No. My breath stops for a second. “What about her?” 

“Well. She saw everything on the news… and she couldn’t take it. Her favorite daughter, by far, in trouble. Maybe dead. Maybe on the run. She couldn’t handle that information… So…” Her lips curl into a twisted, disgusting smile. My stomach turns over. 

“Enya. I swear to God, if you’re lying-” 

“How do you feel knowing you killed our mother? You literally broke her heart.” 

And with that, my heart starts beating erratically. _She’s lying. Enya lies. You can’t believe everything she says._ I feel every muscle and fiber in my calf twist and tear as I start to convulse. I drop back to the ground, my head slamming against the floor. I try to steady it, so I don’t snap my neck while seizing, but everything is spinning. She walks over, and shoves a pill in my mouth, forcing it down my throat until I swallow. I come to. 

“No, you’re not getting off the hook that easily. You’re going to watch me burn the last of your bridges. You’ll have nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. You’re a Mare, now and forever.” 

“The last of them?” I spit. “He’ll find a way. You kill Trevor, you’ll have his whole company on your ass. You’ll have Michael. You’ll have Franklin. You’ll have Lester. You’ll have Packie. You’ll be on a kill list that expands all throughout Los Santos. Throughout the entire state of San Andreas.” 

“That’s fine. I was hoping my new business partners would’ve taken out Trevor’s _ji lao,_ ” She jokingly emphasizes the Mandarin pronunciation. “But, things happen. The young Black boy is going to be a problem, too, I see.” 

Before I ask, I know. I know. Why didn’t I figure this out? _The white car. The fucking white car. She was chauffeured around. She was always there, watching your every move. Just like you thought to begin with._

“And the Chinese guys that showed up at our door… those are your new business partners? That’s why you didn’t shoot them? That’s why they left so peacefully?” 

“Now you’re catching on! Good job! We had to wait for the right time. They want Trevor, and I, of course, want to take everything precious from you… which includes this shitbag. So, it worked out nicely.” She gestures to Trevor as she says this, slapping him hard in the face to wake him up. He bolts upright, looking around. 

“Well, helloooooo, sister! What a lovely surprise! You could’ve at least bought me dinner before taking me home!” He struggles with the knots. “Oh, you dirty girl! I’m into the whole ‘tie-me-up’ thing, although I’m usually on the other side of it.” He looks back to me. “Oh, fuck, Phi! You’re here, too? Well… now I don’t like this as much.” 

“Shut up, idiot. The jokes are over, and the game is played. I win. I always win.” Enya sneers. “Wei Cheng sends his regards.” She walks into Trevor’s room, and emerges with a jerry can. She starts to dump it around Trevor’s chair, and the smell of gasoline is potent. 

“Enya, no. Enya, please,” I grovel. “I’ll go home with you. God, please, no Enya! I’ll go with you! Back to Liberty City! God, I’ll kidnap Packie and bring him back if you want me to! Don’t hurt him!” 

“That don’t mean anything, Phi. I’d come for you. You know I would.” Trevor pipes up, sounding a little defeated. I cry out- it’s an animalistic sound, desperate and wounded. I give into my own weight and fall again. My arm extends out under the couch, and I feel the cool touch of metal. _Of course- the fucking guns under the couch!_

_Can you do it, Phi? You can let her kill Trevor, submit, and go home. Or you can defend your love, your life, and everything you’ve worked so fucking hard for these past ten years. DO IT, PHOENIX._

“Trevor, if it came down to it… you know I’d do what I had to do to protect you.”




Enya whistles, and two men come bustling through the door at me, presumably to take me away so she can torch this place with Trevor in it. The next series of events happen so fast, I can’t say I can remember them spot-on. 

I grab the shotgun, pump it, close my eyes, grit my teeth, and fire. It hits the first man right through the heart. He drops. The next man, closer than the first, steps on my calf, and I screech in pain. I pump again, aim for his head this time, and bang. He’s done. I sit up, trying to regain some sense of balance. I’m halfway onto the couch when Enya, reddened with anger, lunges for me. I whip her with the shotgun as hard as I can; she stumbles backwards, and onto her ass. A matchbook falls out of her hands. I spin myself around, and the roaring my leg makes me see stars. I army crawl for that fucking matchbook; if she gets her hands back on that, we’re all fucked. However, she beats me to it, scooping it up, and stomping on my wound. 

She strikes the match, making a deliberately slow motion to ignite it. She grins sadistically as she holds it up for us both to see. And as she drops it, I pump the shotgun, scream “NO!”, and fire with my eyes closed. 

I underestimate my own skills. Even shooting blindly, the bullet plunges into Enya’s stomach. She drops to her knees. Just then, I see the match make the connection, and the flames start to erupt. With all the strength in my body, I stand up on my good leg, and throw myself at Trevor’s chair. 

I collide with him, throwing us into the bedroom. In a sheer adrenaline rush, I pull out my pocket knife and cut the ropes, unburdening him from constraint. I pull back, helping him up. He grabs the fire extinguisher from his closet, and throws me on the bed, working to put the fire out before we all go up with the flames. When the fire dies down, he tosses the can, scoops me up, and sits me on a lawn chair outside. Then, he goes back in and drags Enya out from underneath her armpits. A streak of blood trails down the steps and onto the dirt patches. 

I am so weak; I cannot get up to check on her. By the looks of her, I just know. Like I knew when I looked at Brad, and like I _thought_ I knew when I saw Michael. I’ve lost so much blood at this point, I’m not even sure I’ll make it out of this, either. And then, it hits me. _You just killed your sister._ I just killed my sister. My sister. She’s dead. I start to cry, and then I just allow myself to fall under and give in to the pain.


	34. Getting Back to Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phoenix uses her abilities for... well, I'd say "good"... but... nothing these guys ever get up to is good.

**_Pacific Bluffs, Los Santos, San Andreas_ **

When I finally wake up, I’m lying in my own bed once more. Trevor’s sitting in my desk chair, watching me. When he sees I’m awake, he comes over immediately. “Sugartits! You’re finally awake!” 

I peer down at my leg, remembering where I got shot. My leg is patched up, and I feel virtually no pain. “Trevor… did you take me to a hospital?” 

“Noooo, ‘course not! I fixed ya up myself!” Oh God. _Mental note: Go to the hospital as soon as possible._ “You’ve been out for a few days.” 

“DAYS?” I exclaim. “Oh my god. No wonder I feel so fucking dirty.” 

“And uh,” Trevor starts. “I know it’s not the time for this… but I buried her out in the desert.” 

I sigh. “I can’t believe I did that.” 

“Me either, Phi. But… you did it. Phi, you saved my life. I think we’re pretty even now… from back in Ludendorff.” He smiles, as though that were in any way comforting. But… shit, I did do it. I shot the gun, and I shot it three times nonetheless. 

“I did, didn’t I? I don’t know… she hasn’t been my family for years. And I had suspicions the whole time, but…” 

“Well… now that you can shoot again… I think you should know that Michael and I have been planning ‘The Big One’.” 

_Holy shit. That’s a phrase you haven’t heard in years._ “Really? The big one? And, uh… where are we hitting? The Union Depository?” I laugh. He doesn’t laugh back. “Oh my God, are you for real? The UD?” He nods. “But what about Michael? You guys didn’t quite leave on good terms…” 

“Yeah, well, we can’t do it without him. After that, we’d be set for life. Wouldn’t have to worry about him no more… if it goes fine, I’ll be sitting on millions of dollars and won’t be thinking of revenge… and if it doesn’t, well, I’ll see you all in hell.” He salutes the Holy Trinity. 

Speaking of the devil, Michael calls me just then. I put it on speakerphone and put my finger over Trevor’s lips to keep him quiet. “Hello? Michael?” 

“Phoenix, hey… I know you hate me right now, and I understand why. I just want you to know I’m going to the Kortz Center and ending this shit with the FIB for good. It’s over. I’m getting out.” 

Trevor glares at my phone, ready to pounce. I put my finger over his mouth once more. He sucks on it, and I punch him. “That’s great, Michael. Do you need backup?” 

“No, but thanks. It’s just me and Davey… I hope. It’s over, Phoenix.” 

After we hang up, I sigh. “Do you think he’s going to be okay?” 

“Hell no. We’re going to watch that. I’m not letting that _asshole_ Steve Haines get the jump on him. If anyone kills Michael Townley- FUCK, Michael De Santa- it’s gonna be me. FUCK. THAT.” He springs up. “We going?” 

“Yeah. We’re going.” I slowly, steadily get up. Trevor slings one hand over my waist, and puts an uncapped bottle of water in mine, ordering me to drink. 

We head to the Kortz Center. Trevor parks the Bodhi near Morningwood, and we take a taxi to the front of the building. He throws me a sniper rifle with a high-powered scope and silencer. I grip it tightly in my hands, turning it over in inspection. It feels so natural in my arms. I don’t feel afraid… I don’t feel afraid! _Here comes another fucking psych spiel._

I saved Trevor… and it was definitely a wakeup call. I was so afraid of so long of being unable to save people. The truth is, if I get people into these messes to begin with, I can’t be afraid to protect them from the messes I’ve created. I can shoot. I will shoot. I will protect Trevor, Michael, Franklin, Lester, Lamar… anyone I’ve grown close to. Anyone I love. By any means necessary. I am not afraid anymore. And the traumatic response I will likely have to executing my own sister… that will come later. 

We perch ourselves on one of the corner pillars, far above the heads of anyone gaiting around the museum. I can’t see anything so far, not even when this gorgeous rifle. I use my headset to see if I can tap into Michael’s… we’ve gotta be pretty close… _Come on…_ I lean far over the ledge, and I can feel Trevor’s arm around my stomach to stop me from teetering over. _Heh. Good thinking._

“…Clean up your mess again… bottom of the ocean… luck with that…” I can barely catch what’s going on. Suddenly, a chopper starts to descend on the area. We drop to the floor, praying they don’t spot us. Through my headset, I hear shots fired. _Fuck. Please don’t be Michael._

“Jesus Christ, that’s Merryweather!” Trevor hisses. “Fuck. What if they tracked me?” 

“God dammit, Trevor! I don’t know!” I sprung up, and through the scope, I see Michael. He’s hiding behind a pillar that’s about to come crashing down; the Merryweather chopper is raining bullets. I take aim, but Trevor beats me down it. _Boom._ Down goes the pilot, and then the helicopter itself. “No fair! I wanted that one!” 

“HEY! If anyone’s gonna kill you, old friend, it’s gonna be me!” Trevor yells at Michael. I spring up suddenly, waving, with an _“Or me!”_

We start firing. One by one, each corrupt FIB agent goes down. Fuck, NOOSE agents? IAA? I don’t know. They all look the same. I hesitate when I see one approaching who I think is Dave Norton. 

“Mr. Norton! We meet again.” I tease. “They’ve got a hard-on for you, boy!” 

“Miss Mare. Do you know how much attention you’ll get if I go down today? Think!” I roll my eyes and take the shot. 

What a fucking mess. There are agents _everywhere._ I’d like to see Steve Haines, just so I can- _A little confident now that we’ve got a gun in our hand, no?_ Maybe. Doesn’t mean a girl can’t dream. Another chopper pulls up, parading bullets near Dave. I take a deep breath, peer through the scope, and aim for the pilot’s upper ear. _Bam._

“They’ll be bringing bodies out of here by the truckload!” Trevor squeals in delight. _Ugh._ He and Dave bitch about Merryweather’s involvement, and Dave blames Trevor for it. _Not unwarranted._ True, but it’s their corruption- and Michael, of course- that’s got everyone else here. 

“And what about Steve?” I ask. “When do we get to take him out?” 

“You take him out now, I’ll be under a microscope. We’d all be fucked, especially Michael. Do you want that on your conscience?” Dave inquires. 

There is no hesitation in my reply. “Michael’s death was on my conscience for years. Maybe it’s time for a little payback for all of you.” _Silence._

Once things are cleared out, Trevor and I race to ground level, and run for the nearest car. He drives us to Morningwood, calling Michael on the way. Trevor tells me to leave, and I happily oblige; they need the time to do whatever the fuck their version of making up is. 

“Oh, and Phi,” He stops me before I take off. “Good job today. And the other day. I’m real proud of you.”


	35. Daydream Believers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback!!

_**The Outskirts of Ludendorff, North Yankton, Long Ago**_  


“Yeah, right!” I scoff. “Something that big could never be done. It’s impossible.”

“You’ve just got to get in the right mindset, babe! We can do anything we want! We’re unstoppable!” Trevor’s optimism is off-character and quite bizarre, but somehow motivational. 

Even Michael thinks so. “Maybe we’re just dumb young adults with too much time on our hands and nothing to live for, but damn. A score that big would settle all our debts. Solve all of our problems. We’d never have to do anything like this again.” 

“Okay… but it’s still fun.” Brad pouts. “It’s not like we have to stop if we do something like this, right?” 

“Oh, yeah, Brad!” I cheer sarcastically. “I’d love to keep robbing, running drugs, living in hellholes, and spending every waking moment with you four assholes! Who would wanna settle down, get married, and have a stable job when we could do _this_ forever?” I grin widely, the catalyst for Michael’s wheezy laugh. 

Trevor looks annoyed. “Well… it’s true, ain’t it? Yeah, we’d be rich beyond measure, but this is a fuckin’ way of life.” 

“This is not a way of life, Trevor. We have so many things we could look forward to. We could be normal people with normal lives.” Michael argues. I nod in agreement. 

Lester looks conflicted about it all. His beady eyes dart back and forth between all of us, as though he’s unsure of who to side with. “It certainly can be fun… but I’m also not in the middle of the firefights. I’m not the billboard for picture-perfect white collar criminality like you guys. But, even so… a normal life might be… interesting.” 

What would a normal life be like for a couple of kids in North Yankton? What even is normal? My normal is mornings at the gun range, afternoons drinking and smoking, and nights running cargo, selling drugs, assassinations… Normal is subjective. Still… would it be so bad? And fuck, I hate the cold. With money like that, I could leave this place forever. I’ve always wanted to see San Andreas- it’s always sunny there. 

“I’ll be dead before I stop doing this shit.” Brad says definitively. I roll my eyes. 

“Yeah, you’d be dead before you could find a girl who’d want to settle down with your ass, anyway.” I laugh. 

“Says you! Nobody’s going to feel masculine enough to settle down with _Phoenix Mare_ ,” He emphasizes my name sarcastically. “If he can’t outsass you, outdrink you, or outshoot you, he ain’t gonna want you anyway!” He laughs obnoxiously, a nasally repetition, like he thinks what he says is the joke to end all jokes. 

Trevor looks at Brad, then looks at me, absorbing Brad’s words. He looks down at his feet, then around, avoiding my gaze. He snaps back to attention when Michael starts laughing yet again. “What’s so funny?” 

“You’ve certainly never cared about your masculinity,” jokes Michael. And that is certainly true. With the times he’s stumbled into our shared shack drunk as a skunk wearing a prom dress… he surely doesn’t. He can’t. “Why don’t you marry Phoenix?” He and Brad erupt into laughter over this. 

I try to assemble some level of any other feeling than discomfort, but the scarlet sweeping over my face is a dead giveaway. “Fuck you guys!” 

“ANYWAY,” Trevor interrupts loudly, coughing aggressively. “The big one. There’s so many places we could hit. We don’t even have to do it here, in this God-forsaken arctic turd-dra of a state. Why don’t we hit Liberty City? Meet some of Phi’s family? Or fuck it, let’s go to Los Santos and hit the Union Depository?” 

Michael waves his hand, dismissing Trevor’s thoughts entirely. “Yeah, right. The UD? That’s one of the most heavily-guarded places in the world. Can’t be done.” 

“Bullshit! You sound like Phi!” Trevor yells. “What else do we have? This is a fucking way of life!” 

“We can do this,” I start. “But there certainly is more to life than robbing. I _did_ aspire to be a psychologist, you know.” 

“I’m serious about Amanda.” Michael interjects quietly. “I love her. I want to spend my life with her. Hell, we could even have kids together.” 

Lester laughs. “Kids, Michael? You want to have kids? One of you is enough, but even one more of you would probably jump-start the apocalypse!” He laughs, coughs, snorts, and laughs again. “I’m kidding.” 

I shrug. It doesn’t sound so bad. Being a mom… I could be just like mine. Mother is so sweet, so compassionate, so lovely… I don’t know if I could ever live up to her reputation, or be as wonderful as she is, but it would be nice to give her something to be proud of. 

I look to Michael, then to Brad; to Lester, and finally to Trevor. Are any of us even capable of those things? We’ve fallen onto such a dark path, and we not only stayed there, but forged new paths for up-and-coming criminals. How hypocritical would it be for us to try and stray from this after we’ve become trailblazers for other pieces of shit like us? 

“Fuck… the Union Depository. I think it could be fun.” I state after a long silence. We toast to old friends and new challenges. We toast to loyalty and friendship. We toast to “The Big One”.


	36. A Missing Piece

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phi meets up with old, friendly faces; a series of flashbacks gives us a glance into life before. Phoenix has regrets.

_**Rockford Hills, Los Santos, San Andreas** _

The shooting at the Kortz Center makes national news; everywhere I look, Steve Haines and Dave Norton are being hailed heroes in uncovering an anti-American plot led by… Agent Andreas Sanchez? Huh. Must have been that quiet guy. Perhaps as a further distraction, I go to speak to Michael, just to make sure he’s okay. We haven’t actually talked things out, but I guess if he’s alive, well, and planning The Big One… I should get on the right side of this. 

I hail a taxi to Rockford Hills. I find myself, once again, at that exquisite Spanish mansion; God, I’d love to have that someday. _Yes, a big, empty house full of decorations and void of companionship._ I knock hard on the door, and to my surprise, it’s not Michael who opens the door. It’s- 

“Amanda?” I venture timidly. This is my first time seeing my old friend in nearly ten years. I wonder if she even feels the same about me or missed me at all. That washes away when she embraces me in a warm hug. 

“Phoenix Mare! Oh, my God! Hiiiii! I can’t believe it! Come in! Come in!” She leads me inside by my hand, then hugs me again. I cannot begin to describe what holding a friend who’s a _woman_ feels like. I’ve been running with the Unholy fucking Trinity for so long, I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be around girlfriends. “KIDS! Get down here!” 

Michael strolls in, and looks surprised. “Uh, Phi. Hey. Uh…” 

“Mikey. Glad to see the family’s back. I just came to…” Seeing Michael’s fear shuts me up. His relationship with Mandy is so fragile; one wrong comment could shatter the delicate balance it’s been gripping onto by its fingertips. “I was just in the neighborhood!” 

“Well, Jesus, I wish you were in this neighborhood more than your guys’ other crazy friends!” Amanda laughs. Then, descending from the staircase, I see my “niece” and “nephew”. Once they see me, their paces pick up. They throw themselves toward me; Jimmy almost knocks me right over, but I hold onto them so tightly, like I’ll never have another chance. I take a step back, and just soak this in. This chaotic, weird, untrustworthy, greedy… _beautiful family._

Tracey, the first baby I ever held in my life, is grown into a beautiful woman. She’s tall and slim, with a gorgeous face that reminds me of Amanda in our younger years. Her dyed blonde hair effortlessly rests in a ponytail, and her smile is dazzling. She definitely takes after her mother. 

And James, my little Jimmy; I remember him as the little boy that Trevor and I would toss around playing Airplane- _until Trevor started having flashbacks and threw him a little too hard._ He’s average height, and kind of chubby, but he’s still “Little Red” to my “Big Red”. He’s got his mom’s hair, but other than that, his demeanor is a lot like Michael’s. 

We sit down on the couch, and Mandy and the kids start talking over each other, trying to give me background on what they’ve been up to for the past ten years. Truthfully… it’s not much, but I’m so excited that they want to involve me. Being with the Tow- _sigh_ \- De Santa family brings so many memories flooding back. 

**_North Yankton, 1991_**

“Michael, Mandy… she’s beautiful. Miss Tracey… Auntie Phi will love you forever.” 

_**North Yankton, 1993**_

“Sweet, sweet little boy… Trevor, look! He’s got little tufts of red hair… no, I’m sure it’s not my baby; wouldn’t I have had to be pregnant for that, idiot?” 

_**1998**_

“Auntie P! Catch!” James throws the ball, but he’s really no athlete. His chunky little legs make little distance before I run at him, scooping him up and tossing him up and down in the air. His little giggles are all I need to hear for me to start laughing. I pretend to fall, gently laying him down on my chest as I stretch out onto the grass. Michael and Amanda are talking and kissing, and Trevor’s slipping Tracey some money for the ice cream truck with a _shhhhh._

 _**2000**_

“Auntie Phoenix… can you show me how to do makeup?” 

“Tracey, you’re only 9 years old. You don’t need makeup!” 

“I want to be pretty like you. Daddy and Uncle T say sometimes you look like a witch without makeup.” I hear snickering from behind the door, which is slightly ajar. I stroll over to it quietly. 

“Did they really? Tracey, you don’t need makeup to be beautiful. You are perfect just the way you are, because you look like your mom.” I swing the door back with a nonchalant kick, and I hear two _fucks_ when it connects with their faces. Trevor and Michael emerge, rubbing their noses. 

“What’s wrong, Daddy?” Tracey asks Michael. 

“Yeah, what’s wrong, Daddy?” I inquire to Trevor, much to Michael’s horror. 

_**Present Day**_

Being around a whole, complete family laughing and smiling… has never made me feel so alone. I feel so guilty. I feel shame. I had a family… and I abandoned them. How could I do that? And holy shit… I’ll never have children. I’ll never be able to settle down; the window of opportunity for that closed a long time ago. And in this life… I mean, come on. Look at how Michael almost lost his family. I could never intentionally put someone’s life on the line… I could never watch someone die again. I can’t. I won’t. 

“Listen, everybody… I’ve gotta run. It was amazing seeing you all, and I love you dearly. Michael, I have to talk to you quickly.” I hug Amanda, Tracey, and Jimmy with all the love I’ve been holding in for a decade before Michael and I step out. 

“Trevor told me about The Big One… are we still moving on that?” 

Michael looks around to make sure none of his family is listening. “Yeah. We are. So long as he doesn’t try to kill me again.” _A bit hypocritical, given why he tried to in the first place._ “We gonna get your sister in on this? She was looking for another venture.” 

Ouch. Terrible segue into that conversation. “Yeah… about that…” 

“What happened, Phoenix?” 

“I did what had to be done, Michael.” I give him an abridged explanation, and he looks genuinely surprised. What else should I expect? He has his opinions on someone, and they’re set. He doesn’t listen to the contraries of his truths. 

“So… Look, keep in touch, alright? You need a gunwoman for The Big One, I’m in.” 

He smiles that classically handsome, criminalistic Michael Townley grin. “There’s no one I’d rather have, Phi. We’re meeting in a few days to smooth it over. Just… take some time for yourself until then, yeah? You don’t wanna carry any baggage going into the biggest heist of our lives.” _Such a sensitive guy._ I nod. 

I go home, lay down on the bed, and just sob.


	37. Assume the Position

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rescue mission, cha-cha-cha!

_**Paleto Bay, Blaine County, San Andreas** _

I spend days in my apartment, ignoring everyone. I simply wait for someone’s call on planning the Union Depository gig. I wrap myself up in shame and a weighted blanket. Things with the UD are definitely put on hold, though, when I get a call from Lester that Franklin put out an SOS in Paleto Bay. I cab over to the strip club, and Trevor and I take off for some sawmill. 

“Any idea what’s going on?” I ask Trevor. He shakes his head. 

“Something with Lamar… but if it’s some gang warfare, I’m killin’ me some Ballas!” He laughs. This time, I shake my head. _Nutjob._

“Well, listen. This is for Franklin, alright? Michael’s definitely going to be there- yes, he is- no, Mikey's not going to just abandon Franklin because he’s a lazy shitbag- so play nice. For Franklin. Alright?” 

When we arrive, Trevor just glares at MT while he scopes out the scene. It is so uncomfortable. I see Franklin pull up, and I just pray Trevor doesn’t start a fight when Frank’s so high-strung. _Don’t insult Michael, don’t insult Michael, don’t-_

“Hey, hey, hey!” Trevor starts. _God dammit._ “Why’d you invite this stoolie, huh? We want Lamar to be rescued, not sold to the Feds!” Franklin and I just exchange a look as Trevor teases Michael, and Michael retaliates through passive-aggressive comments directed to Franklin. Thankfully, we split up to assume the position. 

This is my first time in real, face-to-face combat since I’ve started shooting again. This is interesting for sure. Trevor loaned me a gorgeous SMG to have a little fun- _“Just like our cemetery shootout!”_ \- and asks me if I’ll please shoot Michael down in the process, which starts another feud over the headset. On Franklin’s signal, we storm the mill. 

The first couple of Ballas I see go down quickly. I have time to yawn in between gunning down gangsters. Suddenly, four or five of them approach me from different angles, so I take cover behind a pickup truck. Trevor comes barreling in, doing a tuck-and-roll and sliding right next to me. He pulls out a sticky bomb and gives me the honors. Laughing, I get on his shoulders. He stands up as quickly as he ducks down again, giving me just a split second to throw the bomb at the convergence point of all five Ballas. _Beep, beep, BANG!_ We fist bump. 

“Franklin! I’m going to try and get to higher ground and look for Lamar! Cover me!” I yell. I make a run for the ladder leading up to the chutes; I can only make it to the chute before I’m caught in the crossfires. One bullet narrowly misses my head; it’s so close, in fact, I hear it zip past my ear with a high-pitched _whirrrrr._ I drop inside the chute. I smell rust and copper, and I’m not sure if it’s because of the metal piping I’m lying in or the blood from so many dropped gangsters. 

“Phi? PHI? You okay?” Trevor grunts into the headset. I confirm that I’m okay, and I hear some shuffling near the ground below. I peer up just long enough to see Franklin nearby, throwing a guy to the ground. Just then, I hear a massive fucking explosion- _THIS ONE IS YOURS, GIRL!_ I see a mother fucker with a ROCKET LAUNCHER, and… fuck it. I’ve had enough of that. 

I crawl through the chutes up to the rooftop of the barn connected to the mill. I take a running start towards him; when he sees me, he doesn’t shoot, because he knows he’ll blow us both up if he does. He takes out a pistol and a knife. He attempts some half-assed throwing star move, and the knife soars in the air about six feet to my left. I smile. He cocks the pistol and squeezes the trigger at the same time I unleash with the SMG. His bullet misses me, but several of mine take him down. I then pick up the rocket launcher. _MAKE IT RAIN, PHOENIX!_

I hoist the thing up over my shoulder and look around below. There are seven or so Ballas converging on Franklin and Trevor, who are hiding behind some wooden pallets. 

“LOOK OUT BELOOOWWW!” I yell in a sing-song voice, and fire the rocket. The recoil knocks me on my ass, but the rocket spirals downward toward the ground, exploding on impact and killing the last of the Ballas. Michael cheers for me through the headset, and Franklin takes off for Lamar. _It feels good to be on the other side of a flying projectile of mass destruction._

Franklin emerges out of my blind spot with a wounded Lamar. I can hear him through the headset yelling “What a fucking coincidence, huh?” 

“Franklin, take Lamar and get out of here! We can hold it down here!” I bark. 

“Look at you, sugartits! Just as bossy as you used to be!” Trevor yells with an objectifying growl. 

“Who the fuck is sugartits?” Lamar asks. Upon seeing me, he laughs. “Wassup, boo?” 

“Good to see you’re still alive, L! Now get out of here!” Lamar and Franklin duck into one of the pickup trucks, and zip away. 

There are so many of these guys! Jesus Christ! We’re eliminating a small army! One by one, we continue to pick off more Ballas. More reinforcements are coming in, but there’s a small chance to get out. 

“Phi! Grab the Bodhi and get out of here!” Trevor yells. “Mikey and I can do some catching up… and it’s a _looooong_ drive home from the Bay…” 

“Fuck, Phoenix, don’t leave me!” MT yells, but I’m already sprinting for the truck. 

I have to hang around Strawberry to return T’s truck, so I drive over to their neighborhood to see if Lamar’s okay. I can hear some arguing in the alley near Franklin’s old house, and I recognize F’s voice. 

“Franklin! Lamar! I’m glad y’all are alright. Lamar, you should take care of those injuries, man. Those look rough.” I try to ease the tension between them. 

“Yeah, I was just tellin’ your boy here that we came from the sandbox together. Dude needs to learn the true concept of friendship and shit.” Lamar eggs on, waving around a few bills Franklin must’ve passed him. Franklin throws his hands up and storms off. I stay behind with Lamar. 

“Hey, come on. Franklin’s a good guy; you know that, right? Listen,” I pull out my wallet and hand Lamar everything in it. “Give him some space, man. He’s got a lot going on right now.” When Lamar’s calmed down, I turn back out of the alley, only to see the one and only- 

Steve mother fucking Haines and Dave Norton are ducking into a black sedan; all I hear is “Michael can’t do it. Trevor won’t let him near.” and “That’s why it’s up to you, homie!” As soon as they see me, they slam the doors quickly, and take off. I chuck a rock at the car as it peels off. 

Before I can even question it, Lamar pops up and asks, “Hey, who was that?” Franklin looks at me, visibly agitated. For now, I let it go, but I have my suspicions…


	38. Michael and Phoenix Go to War

**_Strawberry, Los Santos, San Andreas_ **

After a few long days of hearing nothing from anyone, Franklin is the one to finally shoot me a text to tell me he’s picking me up; apparently, we’re going to the Vanilla Unicorn. I drift into sleep again when I hear a rapid succession of horn beeps outside my door. Groggy, I throw on a flannel from the floor and some jeans, and head out. 

Franklin pulls up in a… oh, my God. It’s a purple Ocelot! Just like my old one! He gets out, and I just stand there, starstruck. “Where in the world did you find one like it? Is this a tease?” 

Frank laughs. “No, no, listen. Michael told me what happened, man. I know it can’t make up for anything that’s happened, but I thought it could at least make up for some shit I was involved in.” I run and throw my arms around him, thanking him a hundred times and kissing his cheeks profusely. He hands me the keys, and I rev up the engine to my beautiful new baby. Wow. 

“Franklin,” I say. “Once we pull this shit off, I swear to God, I’ll make it up to you. You are a Heaven-sent, kid.” 

“It’s no problem, Phoenix. I’m excited to see you back in the game, you hear? Just keep Michael and Trevor from killing each other before this is done, and we’re good.” 

We arrive after Trevor and Lester, but before Michael. Good. I can hopefully defuse some tension. Nothing can pull me down from the high of Franklin’s good deed. I would buy that boy a mansion… if he didn’t already have one. Alas, though… As soon as Michael strolls in, he and T start bickering again. 

Lester starts laying out our options- _Shout out to Lester for keeping you in the loop… but now that you’re on the other side of it, he might think you want no part in planning._ There’s this new air of excitement as we speak. I, for one, am ecstatic to be back in action. For the longest time, I felt no ambition to join a heist. Now… I’m looking for a job, a thrill, and a good time with my friends. I can sense it in Michael and Trevor, too… most of the old team is back together. They may want to kill each other, but at least they are relishing in today’s excitement. Michael seems a little off, though. He hasn’t said anything to me so far. Maybe he’s just anxious to get going on this. 

As one of the marksmen, Michael only has to pick one more. Of course, I recommend Packie- then it would really feel like a family on the job. And a Packie, Eddie, Karim, and Paige later… we are ready to roll on this. _After you steal four cars and a police stinger, plot out our getaway traffic route, nab some Union Depository uniforms…_ Alright, alright. We’re close. 

We make the arrangements on who’s stealing what- Michael and Trevor are obtaining the Gauntlets and modifying them, and Franklin and I are responsible for the police stinger. 

“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m fucking pumped for this!” I declare. Trevor and Lester whoop, Franklin nods excitedly, and Michael just glares at me. 

“Yeah. Real fucking excited.” His words are curt. 

I’m almost afraid to ask. “What’s your problem?” 

“Hmm… Well, remember the movie premiere I was so fuckin’ jacked for?” He advances towards me angrily. “Well, a man named Devon Weston set that up for me. And set me up to fail big time. And then, he sends mercenaries to my fucking house, after my fucking family! But the best part? He sent you his _personal regards_ , saying that you’re _a very good friend_ of his.” He hisses that last sentence out like venom. _Gulp._ Trevor doesn’t look too pleased upon remembering this, either. Franklin, of course, looks confused, but also a little annoyed. 

I sigh heavily. “I didn’t know him then! Nobody told me a fuckin’ thing! And we’re not good friends- we met at the bar. I didn’t know he was the guy screwing you all over! Come on!” 

“So you’ll have no problem when I put that guy in the fucking ground?” 

“Look, man,” I start. “If he messed with your family, the man’s got it coming. Like I said, I barely knew him.” 

He continues to peer into my soul with that icy stare. “I don’t even know if I want you on this anymore. How do I know you’re not ‘good friends’ with anyone in the Union Depository? Or the LSPD? Or the NOOSE agents that are gonna be on our asses when we pull this off? Any other inappropriate friendships you want to talk about?” Trevor opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but Franklin gestures for him to shut up. 

Oh. That’s it. That is IT. He’s had this coming for a long time.

“You.” I drive my finger into his flabby chest. “You are THE biggest hypocrite I have ever met. YOU, Michael, Dave Norton’s personal dick rider. YOU, Michael, in Steve Haines’s tight little cargo pant pockets. YOU, Michael, who cut a deal with the government to put us in the fucking ground while you take off with the cash. You want to talk inappropriate friendships?” 

He takes a step back, putting his hands up in defeat. “I’m not fighting you on this, P. Relax. Look, I’m sorry. I’m just pissed. We’re going to have to deal with him one way or another.” 

“I’m alright with that. Again, I must emphasize-” I can’t help but look at Trev. “That I have met him once.” I can’t decipher the look on his face. 

Lester finally chimes in. “Let me show you the equipment, alright? You guys can fight to the death later. Let’s get ready to rumble. We’ve got to move fast on this, before he comes for Michael again. Or Merryweather for Trevor… in any case.”


	39. Something Sensible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phoenix does not like what Franklin has to say.

_**South Los Santos, San Andreas** _

Franklin and I both receive text messages about the Stinger not long after we plotted the heist out. We meet in a parking garage nearby to work it out. I’ve been there enough times to know the layout by heart. 

“We can go in quietly, by the side street of apartments and over the fence. Otherwise, we can walk straight in, take out any cops hanging outside, and take off. Sneaky or cheeky?” I map out. 

“Shit, I get to decide? Woah! Let’s not show our faces on the camera, and sneak in. The fewer cops I gotta shoot or beat up, the better.” Franklin decides. I nod, and we start walking to the Sheriff’s Department. 

We head to the back alley to the left of the station. Two people are arguing, most likely doing a deal, and we try to slip past them unnoticed. I wait to draw my pistol until after we pass, and that’s when I hear an officer yapping on the phone on the other side. _One officer… we could either take him, or just grab the Stinger and run._ We take the stairs up to the sidewalks above and make our move. 

It’s a walk in the park. There’s some kind of storage or electrical shed isolating the stinger. Franklin works to silently unlock and jump it as I stand guard, hoping this guy doesn’t walk over here. He doesn’t. Franklin takes all of six seconds to cross the wires, easily starting the engine without setting off any alarms. We slide in, and take off. 

The van is tricked out with the spike strips and tons of officer-exclusive rifles and handguns. _Is anyone wondering if these UD transportation vans aren’t already modded to be bulletproof?_ It’s a quiet, quick ride back to the Vanilla Unicorn, but there’s something burning in my mind, and I just can’t hold it back any longer. 

“Franklin.” I start, but he already knows what I’m getting at. 

“Phi, come on, dog. You already know what they asked me to do. I haven’t made up my mind yet. I don’t know what to do. I’m so confused!” Franklin bangs the steering wheel with his hands. 

Unfortunately, I have no inkling of an idea of what he means. “Franklin… I have no idea what you’re talking about. That’s why I’m asking.” 

“Fuck, Phoenix. You can’t tell nobody, alright?” He looks at me with a fear I’ve never seen before. I nod. 

“They… Steve and Dave want me to… they told me when the time’s right, I have to do ‘something sensible’. They said I have to kill Trevor.” 

Total, unadulterated, deafening silence. I cannot muster up any words, any advice, any emotion. My mind is a blank slate other than replaying the scene over and over in my head: _I remember the last long, desperate look T gave me before he threw me into the chopper when it finally fuckin’ got there; as I ascended, I stared through the cockpit window as he charged through the hayfield, disappearing into that thick, winter fog… followed by a handful of cops. He saved me. And I didn’t know if he made it out… Would I ever?_

I’m not about to start seizing, but my heart feels like it sank into the pit of my belly. It is so heavy and relentless; there’s a burning sensation in my chest, like I should be weeping or full-blown panicking. It’s the kind of pain that you don’t know how to bounce back from; it feels like rock bottom. 

“What…” I finally break the silence after agonizing minutes. “What can I do to help you?” 

“Shit, nothing, Phoenix. It’s my choice. I told them to ask Michael to do it.” 

This angers me. “Why the fuck would you ask that? Why wouldn’t you defend T?” 

“Fuck, Phi, what am I gonna do? Let the Feds fuck me the way they fucked Michael? We’re all already fucked! I just want this shit to be over!” 

I shake my head profusely. “Franklin. Two things; Trevor would not let Michael get within spitting distance of him… and I could make him leave. I could pluck him up and move so far away, you’d never hear from him again. He’d never be a problem to anybody here again. I swear.” I’m so desperate as I pull ideas from my head in this crazily concocted plan. It’s so narrow-minded and ill-thought-out that I half expect Franklin to laugh at me. He doesn’t. 

“I don’t want that, Phoenix. I don’t want to kill Trevor. We’re cool. But what do we do about the feds, man?” 

_Even if you ran off with him… it wouldn’t last. It wouldn’t work. They’d come after you. If Michael really wants to kill Trevor, he’ll find a way. If the feds really want to kill Trevor, they’ll find a way. Same for Merryweather. And the Chinese people. Any more bikers or hillbillies that hate him. FUCK! This a whole arrangement of messes to clean up, Phi. It’d be easier to just…_ Don’t. Don’t even think about it. 

“I don’t know. We’ll figure something out, Franklin. When the time comes.”


	40. The Notorious B.I.G (One), Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THE BIG ONE!

_**Pillbox Hill, Los Santos, San Andreas** _

Today’s the day. It’s time to rob us a Union Depository. I am infiltrating the building itself with Michael and Trevor, as an armed security guard. Lester somehow secured some uniforms for us and brought them to the Vanilla Unicorn; I inspect myself in one of the mirrors in the strippers’ dressing room. Trevor and Michael are aggressively bantering, of course; something about the “sorriest day of Michael’s little life”, or whatever. Michael helps me tuck my hair into the shielded helmet, and I laugh at how we look. The armor’s definitely going to come in handy… but man, I feel ridiculous. 

“Good luck out there. See y’all on Mission Row.” Franklin waves us off as we head out of the club and into a black sports utility. I grip my rifle tight as I duck into the backseat with Trevor. I kiss Packie, happy to see my old friend, who’s kicking it in the front seat. I’m still jittery with nerves; it’s been a long time since we pulled a job this big without devastating consequences… _Don’t talk yourself out of this! It’s a huge take!_ Trevor grips my thigh with one hand and squeezes tightly. 

“Four tons of gold, girl! We’ve got this!” He whoops loudly, causing an echo of cheers in the car. I laugh, and feel a little calmer. We’ve just got to make it to the tunnel, and when shit gets real, I’ll feel less anxious about it. 

Aaaand then Trevor starts accusing Michael. “You setting these guys up for a fall? …The whole treachery thing is new to me.” 

“Shut the fuck up, Trevor.” I say, trying to reassure Packie’s worried look. It’s a tense few minutes waiting for the armored vans to come by. When they appear in the rearview mirror, Mikey lays the spikes, and creeps forward. 

_Zoom._ It felt like mere seconds between the vans crashing, and us taking over. 

“Let’s let the slaughter commence! Who do you like?!” Trevor jokes to the group’s chagrin. 

“T! We are not doing that! We’re keeping this clean and peaceful. I didn’t pick up a gun again just to shoot people willy-nilly.” I argue, butting him with my rifle. He rolls his eyes. The boys pick their hostage of choice, the one who’s going to get us into the building with a legitimate ID. He looks genuinely terrified, and I kind of feel for him. However, the thought of millions of dollars resting easily in my bank account, combined with the fact that, once this money is acquired, I don’t have to risk my life like this ever again, I don’t feel quite as bad. _Real sympathetic. I’m sure your readers love that._ It’s part of my charm. 

Slowly and surely, we make our way to the Union Depository. I feel a little calmer. I breathe a little easier. I look to Trevor and wink, confident. Then, I look at Michael. 

_“Fuck, I’m not gonna make it!”_

_“T, Phi, you gotta get outta here!” M cried out. I met his ocean eyes once more, and, tears filling mine, I pulled away._

_“I’m not leaving you behind, Mikey!”_

“P? Phi, what’s wrong?” Michael asks, trying to get my attention but careful not to name-drop me. I can’t explain what I’m feeling, but my heart starts racing. 

The deception. The lies. The secrets. What if this is another setup? What if the score we’ve all been dreaming of is actually a big fat lie? The paranoia builds up, swelling in me, weights of doubt stacked up brick by brick until they’re crushing my soul. I look at Michael, and I can only see a red-flanneled, thinner Mikey with a bullet in his chest, bleeding out as I helplessly watch my best friend dying. _“I’m not gonna make it!”_

My fingers and toes go numb first, before the shaking starts. My arms tremble, and the rifle loosens in my grip. My knees lock in, but my calves feel jittery. I hear a near-silent whisper in my ear- _“Don’t do this now. Fight it.”_ Trevor has his hand on my back, in an alert calmness that won’t disturb the others. I take a deep breath. I’m here. I’m now. I’m not the past. I’m not back then. I am Phoenix Mare, dammit, and I am strong. _Cute pep talk._

I can’t fight the urge. The instincts take over. I look over to him, and lean in quick to kiss him. Our lips- then our helmets- crash together. There’s a metallic _clang!_ and our heads bounce back. He grins at me. 

“Couldn’t resist Uncle T, I see.” 

“Shut the fuck up. Heat of the moment thing.” 

Michael looks back. “What’s wrong? Casey’s not giving you trouble, is he?” He gestures towards our hostage, who immediately musters back _“No! No!”_

The anticipation is unbearable as we make our way into the lot. We slowly back the vans into the parking space, and Michael threatens the real worker not to do anything stupid. We all line up to flash our IDs. 

First Casey… then me… then Michael… then Trevor. _Fuck. We all TOLD him not to use such a Spanish-sounding name. What kind of fucking idiot uses “Diego Santiago” with a picture of Mullet Man himself?_ The manager stares long and hard the ID, and I’m sure he makes the forgery. I gulp, then hold my breath. 

“Good! That’s good. Courtesy escort is a go.” He speaks into a walkie talkie. I sigh as quietly as possible. 

We make our way into an elevator to take us down to the vaults. The manager makes a tired joke about LS traffic, and turning to me, says, “And you all have to sit in those trucks bored out of your minds, staring at more money than you know what to do with.” 

I laugh half-heartedly. “Yeah… I don’t know what I’ll- I’d do, with so much money.” He looks at me funnily, but shrugs it off when the elevator doors pop open, and… 

“Wow.” The door leading to the vault is enormous. Nobody could crack that thing with physical force alone. It isn’t your run-of-the-mill slab-on-grade job; it’s reinforced with steel, acrylic, and it’s got a four-digit lock with a fingerprint sensor. Jesus. Be thankful they snagged somebody for this. We would’ve been fucked on the spot. Casey steps up to bat, carefully blocking our views as he works the lock. I hear the beep and hiss of the lock turning, and we step into the vaults. 

“Come on. We’ve got a job to do.” Michael states.


	41. The Notorious B.I.G (One), Part Two

_**Pillbox Hill, Los Santos, San Andreas** _

All that’s gold truly glitters… or however that saying goes. Wow. My whole vision is taken with the metal, ripe, idle fruit waiting to be picked. Each room is FILLED with gold, but there’s one cell that lays wide open- the one with four tons that Lester had arranged for pickup. Trevor whistles, Michael takes a sharp inhalation of air, and I just stare. 

That money is going to get me on a waterfront beach house right on Vespucci Beach. That money is going to get me my own gun range, so I can teach young girls to defend themselves in times of terror. That money is going to make it so that I never have to threaten, coerce, or manipulate anyone ever again. Most importantly, that money’s going to get me to the east coast, to check on my mom and pluck her out of the gods-forbidden State of Liberty. _Enya always lies. She’s alive. She’s fine- okay, not fine and rapidly deteriorating mentally, but she’s alive._ Maybe I’ll take one of the boys with me, to plot her escape and journey out west. _Awww, bringing T to meet the in-laws? How sweet._ Fuck you. 

A few jokes and many nervous laughs later, we carry the gold back out to the armored vans. Trevor estimates there’s about two-hundred million dollars’ worth of gold on these racks- _How the fuck did that dropout calculate so fast?_ He’s oddly intelligent for someone of his… demeanor. My heart grows giddy with excitement. 

“Any jobs after this?” The manager asks us. I see Michael shaking his head, and do the same. 

“Nope. This is the last one.” 

Trevor pipes up. “He’s retiring.” 

“I’m exploring other opportunities.” _Oh, the irony…_

T cannot hold back on the tension he’s created. “You know, your chance of an early death increases dramatically when you retire.” I nudge him hard with my elbow, and he shuts up. 

_“Cargo’s in the loading bay.”_ Time to rock and roll. Michael gets into one van, Trevor and I hop into the other, and we take off. _It cannot be this easy. Something is going to go wrong._ A bloodless encounter? Unheard of. 

Over the walkies, Michael asks if everything’s good with traffic, to which Franklin replies “Not good! Merryweather knows we took the UD! They’re out lookin’ for you!” _Knew it._

Paige, Franklin, and Lester tap into the traffic control system. I pray this other chick is good for the job, seeming as I’ve always been the one to help plan and execute security measures. _You don’t want another death or two on your hands, eh?_ Definitely not. Imagine if one of them got hurt because I wasn’t the one spearheading the traffic manipulation. Imagine… Imagine if Michael, or that innocent worker Casey got hurt… I can’t imagine the absolute torture of losing… _Trevor? You’ve got some unfinished business with him…_ Yeah. That, too. 

We make it cleanly through the first light. No Merryweather in sight so far. Second light is the same. _“Merryweather North and South of your position.”_ I roll down the window, rifle at the ready in case we pick up heat. The anticipation is killing me. Third, fourth, and fifth lights are clean. _“Merryweather on the west of the grid!”_ Green light ahead. _“Merryweather on top of the grid, shit!”_

I breathe a sigh of relief as we make it through the heinous Los Santos congestion with no problems. I’m not ready for a team of privately-trained mercenaries to take me out on my first real job in almost ten years. We creep under a bridge in Mission Row to redistribute the weight into those beautiful modded Gauntlets. 

I start to oversee the swap, but I hear a thud on the ground. Trevor throws Casey down, barrel pointing straight at him. “Don’t forget ol’ Case here, huh? The lead ain’t gonna be wasted!” 

I run right over, pushing him away from the man. “Don’t, Trevor!” 

“Biggest score of our LIVES? We ain’t takin’ any chances!” He nudges me aside, but I stand firm. He looks at me angrily, his expression quickly darkening. Trevor grabs my arm again, physically moving me out of his gun’s path. This time, I grab the butt of his rifle, smacking it out of his grip. “Are you fucking insane?” 

Trevor is pissed. He loses focus on Casey, now locked onto me- which is kind of the point anyway. He grabs my arm, and yanks me away from the commotion. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Michael toss Casey a gold brick. _Smart, Mikey. Bribe him into silence. That gold will set him for life, anyway. He won’t need to go back to that Union job._ “Do you think it’s cute to undermine me all the time? Huh? Do you not want people to take me seriously? You’re doin’ a real good job at putting us in danger right now!” He hisses, furiosity dripping in his rant. 

“You don’t need to KILL everyone! Sometimes, there are peaceful ways of getting rid of the evidence!” I banter. “I know you want to satisfy some quest for bloodshed, but we can’t afford that on a job like this!” 

“Whatever, Phoenix. You want to leave a witness alive and risk us losing everything, fine. It’s not gonna- WHO LET HIM GO?” Trevor realizes what we’ve done. He white-knuckles the gun he’s holding, maddening with rage. I place a hand on his shoulder; he looks back to me. I try to smile it off, and I see the tension in his shoulders let up. “You owe me.” He says this with a certain… I don’t know… _SEX APPEAL?_ My god. No. _Yes._

I’m about to reply something witty when I hear tires squealing. Fuck! It’s Merryweather- and lots of them. Jesus, it looks like they sent the entire army here; guards armed to the teeth come pouring out, six or seven from each van. _And with six vans already parked, and more incoming…_

Franklin gulps. “Holy sh-” _BANG!_


	42. The Notorious B.I.G (One), Part Three

_**Ludendorff, North Yankton, 2004** _

Brad set the charges for the door to freedom… and then we saw more cops than I could count on three hands. 

…

So much shooting. So much blood. So. Much. Blood. 

…

I remember the sirens blaring in a deafening crescendo. I remember my clip jamming. I remember the last long, desperate look T gave me before he threw me into the chopper when it finally fuckin’ got there; as I ascended, I stared through the cockpit window as he charged through the hayfield, disappearing into that thick, winter fog… followed by a handful of cops.

…

_**Mission Row, Los Santos, San Andreas, 2013**_

All of these thoughts run through my head as we defend each other from Merryweather. There’s easily 40 or more of them, shooting tactfully towards us. Thankfully, they’re shooting at us, and not our modded cars, which are bulletproof anyway. I don’t want to take any chances with the gold, though, so I lead harm out of the gold’s way. Merryweather certainly assailed us from all sides, coming in from three directions. We were, quite literally, backed into the corner. 

“Mercenary mother fuckers!” Trevor yells. Michael orders the drivers to keep loading, while the rest of us hit the dirt. 

There are so many mercenaries, it’s hard to focus on one particular person to take out. I keep losing focus. I’m panicking. _RELAX. This is the biggest take of your LIFE. Never again. You never have to do this again._ I steady my breath, and step away from the support beam I’m hiding behind. 

_Picture Enya. Aim for the apple on her head, then go for the throat. Picture Steve Haines’ stupid nighttime shades; he called you a bitch, and tried to force you into another one of their charades. Aim for the sunglasses, and pierce the eyeball. Picture the biker in Trevor’s trailer, pinning you down. Go for his chest the same way T did with the butt of the rifle. Make him feel breathless, speechless, the way he left you. Hell, picture Trevor not helping you when Martin Madrazo kidnapped you. You will never feel as helpless as you did with these people… ever again. Put them down. PUT THEM DOWN!_

My vision starts to come to again. I’ve taken down at least 15 men, but more are coming. Time to get personal. And this time, I came prepared. 

I reach into my cargo pockets, and pull out a grenade. Pulling the string with my teeth, I stunt a little skip-and-hop, like I’m throwing a softball back infield, and toss it over by a Canis. One, two, three… _KA-BOOM._ The car explodes, sending the three once-living corpses behind it flying through the air. The next few shots of my SMG echoed under the bridge, deeply embedding themselves into the guts of the next few army men who dared approach me. In my peripherals, I catch someone coming directly from my right. I wait. _One, two, three…_ I drop to my knees, and she flies over me, some kind of disoriented leapfrog. I unsheathe my machete from inside my sleeve, and plunge it deeply into her stomach, no hesitation in the drawback. The _shhhhhing_ of the blade carving through her skin is quick and well-oiled. She groans once and goes quiet. 

I’m going to need hearing aids after this barrage of bullets. Trevor stands alone towards the front; I don’t know what kind of cosmic force decided I’d look in his direction at that exact moment, but in it, his rifle jammed. One man jumps over a couch and past a discarded box to grab him. I run and take him from the flank, tackling him to the ground. I drop my machete in the process, but, in his daze, I grab it once more and swipe it clean across his unmasked throat. I can’t watch the next scene; it’s too graphic. I leap up and flip him over, so I don’t have to observe the consequences of my action. Trevor whips me behind a banister right as another bombardment of ammo comes marching in. I crash into him, and he stares at me, as if to say _Thank you._ I nod, sticking my gun out and firing blindly into the crowd. He lifts up the shield on my helmet, and kisses me. _Poor timing, but when is a better time for Trevor than being attacked? When is he NOT being attacked? You’ll never find time otherwise._ I kiss him back, releasing my anguish and anxiety, but not the trigger. Nope. I’m still firing into these assholes as I take a second to revel in what I’ve found with Trevor. _Fucking weirdos._

“DO YOU MIND, GUYS? IT’S TIME TO GO!” Michael screams at us in disbelief. We start sprinting towards the cars. Trevor and Michael argue about who’s going to run off into the sunset with the gold, but I not-so-gently remind them that Lester is going to be the one who melts and flips it for us. We take off. 

I hop in with Franklin, the one I trust most to drive me to safety. “Scooter sister! Let’s roll!” He laughs, and hits the pedal to the metal. We’re off. 

We zig and zag through cops, an aggressive weaving between cars. Past familiar restaurants, museums, and shops we go, and they become blurred lines of nothingness as our speed picks up to over 100 miles an hour. Under the Rockford Plaza we go, narrowly missing a semi-truck as we, er… _skip the line._

“There’s a gap in the barrier! Go right through it!” Michael orders. Franklin follows orders, shooting us right off the bridge onto the streets below! It’s gotta be a twenty-foot drop, and I feel my breakfast reacquaint with my esophagus as we plunge. 

“Whoooooaaaa!!” yells Trevor, also clearly surprised with the depth of our descent. We hit the concrete hard, but it barely slows us down. Thankfully, the traffic slows down, but only because there’s a wall of police cars at the end of the street. Franklin once again impresses me, spinning the car ninety degrees to, quite literally, slide between the stingers. _Fuck, this kid’s good._ I wave to the officers hiding behind their open doors, and we’re off again. 

An incoming officer clips us, and we spin out for a second. Shit, shit. I start firing until Franklin can get back in control, jerking the wheel left and right until we straighten out. 

“Where’s Franklin?” Michael asks. 

“Where’s Phi?” Trevor yells simultaneously. 

“We’re good! We’re almost there!” I call back. “See you assholes under the bridge!” 

When we catch up, Franklin and I catch sight of the two open trailer doors inviting us inside for cover. We have a four-second frame to get into the trailer before we’re exposed to the copper choppers. He speeds up, riding up the ramp effortlessly. The driver swings the door up soon after, and everything goes dark for a bit. 

…

We reconvene to hitch a ride together to Michael’s place. It’s a brief drive to Rockford Hills, and the Cavalcade has plenty of room for me to stretch my legs and release some of the tension in my body. I hop in the back with Franklin, and close my eyes. The relaxation doesn’t last long, because Trevor and Michael immediately start arguing. 

“Watch it, Frank- Michael likes to retire with a very interesting exit strategy.” 

“Well, thank God I’ll never have to work another heist with you again, especially since you decide to tongue-fuck Phoenix over getting the job done.” Michael spits. _Oof._

I bite my lip, but cannot shut myself up. “Watch it, Michael. My worst can outshoot you at your best. I wouldn’t say anything you’ll regret. After I have that money, I’ve got nothing left to tie me to you, dick.” 

“Come on, man. I mean, we just took the biggest score in the history of scores, and you bitches just wanna moan?” Franklin argues, making a compelling case. “This shit is pathetic.” 

Finally, thankfully, and without killing one another, we make it to Michael’s driveway. We cheer to our success. Lester is already slugging a beer. 

“We can take it easy knowing that it’ll be a few days before Judas here shows his true colors.” Trevor starts, getting in Michael’s face. _Uh oh._ Franklin pulls me back by my top. 

“Really? Now?” Michael quips back. “...When you’re sitting on that fat pile of cash, chill the fuck out and realize what’s done is done.” 

_What’s done is done._ It’s easy to say that when you’re not the one who’s been betrayed. It’s easy to mock and jest at scars that one causes, and then reopens years later. How privileged Michael is to have never felt the pain of losing everyone and actually caring about it. How good it must feel for Michael to say it’s over when we’ve been picking up the pieces of this mess for ten years. How fabulous it must have been to sit poolside, staring at the clouds and regretting his life choices while Trevor and I scrambled to organize our thoughts and priorities after being left flat fucking broke with no money, friends, companionship, or will to live? _Yikes._

And I let him know exactly how I feel about his remark, followed by Trevor screaming, “Whatever you say, alright?!” to back me up. 

“Well, this is a good time!” Franklin yells at us, to which Michael and Trevor screech “IT’S HIS FUCKING FAULT!” at the same time, two sociopathic, disturbed peas in a pod. I move forward to physically separate them right as Lester does the same. 

“For a couple of Midwestern stick-up artists, you guys sure have become a pair of whiny, West Coast douchebags!” Lester pipes up finally, throwing one arm in the air in frustration. This did NOT strike a chord with Franklin, whom we all know grew up in Los Santos. _Yiiikes._ “Oh, I love it here! Everyone’s so numbed by the sun that if you use a three-syllable word, they think you’re a professor!” I’m proud of Les for standing up for himself, but annoyed that he thinks he’s so above it all. 

Lots of “Fuck yous” later, Trevor gets in Lester’s face. This doesn’t sit right with me. Lester works so hard for us- and he’s also the one in control of where the gold goes. We should not be fucking with him right now. 

“Trevor! Leave him alone!” Michael and I both yell. _Lots of weird repetition going on here. It’s unsettling._ I grab T by the shirt and fling him backward. This angers him. He takes a step towards me. 

“Undermining me again! What a fucking surprise!” He throws up his hands in frustration. I try to reach for him, but he recoils at my touch, accidentally shoving me backward. Michael and Franklin start grilling into him again. It’s now just a five-way standoff. 

Finally, Franklin’s had enough. “You’re all assholes! Man, I gotta go calm down. This shit was real illuminating.” He speeds off down the driveway and into a cab. 

Trevor looks around. “Fuck all of you! You know where to find me when my money’s ready.” He takes off, then stops just for a second; he turns his head sideways, like he wants to look back, but changes his mind last-minute and walks away. My chest pangs. 

“Phoenix,” Michael starts from behind me. “I’m sorry. Come on. Can’t we talk this out?” 

I think for a second. “No. I need the day off.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think my Trevor/Phoenix fans will really like the next chapter... and if you think it's over after Plan A/B/C... Phoenix has a lot more in store for you.


	43. Twenty Years of It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Methinks you'll really, really like this chapter, you smutty readers, you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mildly explicit content for a mature audience. Read at your own discretion. (Nothing too tasteless. Just be warned.)

_**Vespucci Beach, Los Santos, San Andreas** _

I take a little time for myself after my big fight with the boys. I hide away in my apartment for the express purposes of laying low and avoiding them. Of course, even taking it easy gets hard when you’re best friends with Trevor Philips. When he arrives at my doorstep two days later, I’m not sure what to expect. 

“Phi.” He says curtly, coming in uninvited. I roll my eyes, and close the door behind him. 

“Trevor.” 

“How are you? Have you finally realized you were wrong to undermine me?” 

My blood boils and bubbles underneath my skin. “Have you finally realized you don’t need to be explosively angry every time someone disagrees with you?” 

“It was Michael’s fault! I don’t know why you couldn’t have defended me! Aren’t you on my side?” He pouts, leaning against the wall. He’s obviously frustrated with me. 

“I don’t understand why I always have to take your side. We can disagree about things, and I’m still with you. I still like you, we’re still fr-” I cut off at the word _friends_ , unsure of what to actually call us. 

“Friends, huh? Got it.” He stomps off into the kitchen to fix himself a drink. Glass of scotch in hand, his hand shakes, rattling the ice. I place my hand over his, and he stops tremoring. 

I look up at him. “I didn’t mean it that way. Come on. I don’t… I don’t know what to call it. I…” 

“What?” He growls. “You’re going to abandon this now? After all we’ve done? Seen? Been through together?” Each word swells with more deflation. 

“Trevor. It’s not like that…” Truthfully, it’s not. There’s so much more to our story than what he’s making it out to be, though. There exist so many layers to our relationship; we have more doubts, insecurities, and contingencies than the average person. There are so many “what-ifs”, and whataboutism is dangerous. It’s toxic. It’s also unavoidable in our predicament. 

“Think about the consequences of this, Trevor.” 

“What’s _this_ , Phoenix? Are you too afraid to call it what it is? Are you that afraid of this? Are you afraid of me?” Trevor’s voice dims when he reaches that last question. It’s like he anticipates a certain answer from me, and not a good one. His eyes soften, but he looks afraid. 

I sigh. “I’m not afraid of you, T. I’m afraid of this. All of this.” 

“What’s THIS, Phoenix?” 

“I don’t know, Trevor!” 

“Yes, you do!” 

I can’t hold it back anymore. Tears threatening to escape their cells, I approach him, finger driving into his chest. _Just lay it on him._

“FINE! I love you, Trevor! I fucking love you! And I’m so afraid to love you! I’m TERRIFIED to love you! It’s too dangerous to love you the way I want to! I mean, who are we kidding? We’re killers! We’re just higher-class thieves! We’re criminals! We’re lucky to even be _alive_ , much less try and go back to ‘normal’ lives! What did you expect? You’re not one to settle down! You said it yourself, this is the life you WANT to live! This isn’t it for me! You’ll never change, and neither will I! What’s the point?!” 

Trevor is completely stunned by what I say. So am I. So I just stare. And he stares back, motionless, emotionless. I silently beg him to say something. I crave validation. Am I crazy? Am I wrong for thinking that? 

“I…” For once, Trevor has nothing to say. For once, Trevor has no response, no sarcastic quip, and no evidence to suggest I’m in the wrong. He’s truly and utterly speechless. The silence is deafening. Telling him I love him is a bittersweet feeling even though it’s going to absolutely blow up in my face. Is this the beginning of the end for us? _Can you stop thinking paradoxically?_ “Say something.” I plead. 

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” He asks. _Where’s your sense of adventure, Phi?_ He comes closer to me, so close I can smell the lilac detergent he probably stole from Floyd’s apartment. “Huh? Do you really have to think that far ahead? Do we always have to focus on what _could_ happen, instead of what’s right here in front of us?” 

“I wish I could live like you, ignoring all consequences and just doing,” I retort. “But I can’t. I lost you once. If I lost you again because of my past, my family, my mistakes…” I break down. I start crying, and I just lose myself in the fear. 

Trevor grabs my arm and wrenches me in for a bone-crushing clutch. He holds onto me with all the strength in his arms; I look down at them, and watch the ink on the tattoos stretch across the skin as he flexes around me. This time, I squeeze back. I drape my arms over his neck, folding them over to bring his face in close to mine. I grab onto a tuft of what’s left of his hair, and I don’t let go. I can’t let go. I will never let go. 

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to just live in the moment, Trevor. I can’t quit calculating.” I finally respond after a few long minutes of embrace. He holds me at arm’s length to inspect my expression. 

“I can help you with that, sugarti- sugar.” _Damn, no sugartits? Things are getting serious._

“How?” I wonder. 

“The best way to get good at something is through practice.” And with that, he pulls me into another long-awaited kiss. I can’t even react before he does this, but then I smile through it. His lips are placed firmly on mine, he slides his hands down to the backs of my thighs, lifting me up and setting me on the counter; he takes a step closer now, parting my legs to leave no space between us. He bites my lip, pulls it back, and says confidently, 

“I did so much waiting for this, sugar. Twenty years of it.”

“Twenty years?” I scoff, stopping to look at him. “Bullshit. We only _met_ , like, twenty years ago.” 

His face tightens into an expression that says, _“No shit. That’s the point.”_ I feel my face warm. “No shit. That’s the point.” He says aloud, and I laugh loudly. “What?” 

“Nothing, nothing.” I say, pulling him back in. I pause. “Trevor… about Devon… I know this is awful timing, but I just want you to know…” 

Trevor puts a finger up to my lips. “Phi. This is what I mean. Stop thinking. Just do.” With that, he kisses me again. It feels different this time, though. Twenty years of pining wrapped up into this exact moment. I’m not wasting another second. 

I hoist myself off the counter, still holding onto him. He’s reluctant for our kiss to break off, but his eyes light up as I take him by the hand out of the kitchen and into my bedroom. When we’re there, I shut the door and throw myself at him with all the frustration I’ve been saving up for nearly a decade. Trevor catches me effortlessly, scooping me up as I latch onto him. I’m so aware of all these varying sensations: his legs standing sturdy, supporting all his weight and mine; his hips jutted out slightly, just so I can rest easily into him; his arms squeezing my sides and hands firmly placed on my back like he’s holding precious cargo; and, of course, his mouth so strongly pressed against mine, enrapturing me like he has all these years. 

“So twenty years, huh?” I tilt my head back a bit, creating space between us. He reaches for me again, but I resist. Trevor growls at me. 

“Can you believe it? You were so annoying.” He shifts his hips to raise me up again. I play-slap him. 

“ME? You! You played games for so long, and expected me to know what you wanted? That’s the most obnoxious part!” 

Trevor looks at me, bewildered. “How could you not? I made it pretty clear.” Before I can say anything, he throws me onto the bed. “Is this clear enough for you, Phoenix?” 

I nod. “Crystal, Mr. Philips.” I reach up, grab him by the shirt, and bring him crashing on top of me. He instinctively grabs my hands, pinning them to the bed. He looks down towards my chest, and, perhaps without noticing, he pokes his tongue out, but snaps back to reality when I start to laugh. He slides one arm under me, pulling me in as he works to unbutton my flannel with the other one. Ripping it open, he looks at me hungrily, but then stops. He actually gets up for a second, hovering over me. 

“What’s wrong?” I ask nervously. _Has he changed his mind? Did he realize how dangerous this is?_ “If you want to call it quits, we can-” 

“Shhhh.” Trevor puts a hand up in reassurance, still stuck in a stare. “Nothing’s wrong.” _Okay… a vague answer, for sure._

“Trevor?” “Phi… I’ve just been waiting for this for so long. Fuck, now I’M the one overthinking. I just want it to be everything I hoped for… and so far,” He pauses to look me up and down again. “So far, it’s perfect.” He dives back on me, kissing me in all the right places. The pleasure overcomes me, and I start grabbing for him. _So much for a slow, romantic love scene._ Yeah, but that wouldn’t be very “Trevor and Phoenix”. 

Quickly and aggressively do his vest and long sleeve become acquainted with the floor. I run my hands up and down his arms, looking at each ridiculous tattoo after another. I trace one fingernail across his stomach up to his chest, and stop near his left pec. I am floored by this particular piece of ink- how have I never seen _this_ before? 

There’s a small black pile of ashes, with smoke trailing upward. Above the smoke was a small bird… a phoenix bird. The red ink, clearly faded with time, is a dead giveaway. Its wings are a ombre red-orange color, with little dark marks for eyes. The bird is rising from the ashes, being reborn from its own failed self… onto Trevor’s heart. 

“When did you get that?” My voice cracks halfway, and I can’t help but get emotional. 

“A long time ago, Phi… Phoenix.” He takes my hand and places it over his heart. _And so the fanatical, off-beat Trevor Philips… the destructive, angry Trevor Philips… has a soft spot. A happy place._

I smirk. “You fucking sap.” 

“I don’t have to be soft on you, you know.” He stands over the end of my bed, grabs my legs, and pulls me towards him. He reaches for my leggings, peeling them off in one fluid motion. “‘If love be rough with you, be rough with love!’” 

Kisses turn to pecks, pecks to bites, and bites to devouring. And he devours me alright. And then I give Trevor Philips twenty years worth of lust and longing- _and?_ \- and maybe just a little smidge of love, in one night’s time. 

“I… I do love you, Phi. I love you. I’ve always loved you, dummy. Now come here.


	44. Now or Never

_**Vinewood Hills, Los Santos, San Andreas** _

When I awake the next morning, my head is a bit foggy. Last night is so surreal to me that I can’t focus on all the details. Trevor is still slumped, turned away from me… with one hand cuffed to my bedpost. _Oops._ I giggle, and silently slip out of bed. 

I cross over to my dresser, where my phone sits with 3 unread messages. 

_Michael: Can we please talk soon?_

_Lester: Thanks for sticking up for me. Want to see you soon, old friend._

_Unknown Number: See you soon._

Hmmm. “Soon” won’t happen anytime soon. I delete the random anonymous text, and ignore the other two. I look back to Trevor, sound asleep, not stirring one bit. He looks so peaceful and so rested for once. I won’t wake him. 

The only person I’ve wanted to talk to, Franklin, hasn’t hit me up yet. I wonder what’s going on with him today… maybe I should pay him a visit. _He’s probably still pissed about the whole situation._ He could definitely use a friend, though. I leave a note for T- _Out for a few hours. Stick around. Phi._

As I drive, I can’t stop thinking about Franklin’s “something sensible”. Could he really go through that? Would he? Would he and Michael do it together? Would they come for me next? What about the FIB? Dave and Steve would certainly come for me- because, God help them if they get away with this. I will hunt them for the rest of my life. _Don’t get ahead of yourself. Ask Franklin what he’s going to do. He’s been nothing but honest this far… but when Trevor’s involved, it could get messy._

I nearly miss the house. _Dammit._ As I pass, I see three men standing outside with Franklin. Two of them are bald wearing matching gray tracksuits, and the other guy… He looks so familiar from behind, but I can’t quite place it… He’s wearing a douchey jogging outfit, and similarly douchely running in place. The man is wearing a gray-and-neon-green slim-fit jacket with the collar extended up around his neck. _Ugh. Can he get more DOUCHEY?_ His compression shorts extend beyond his athletics, and his socks nearly meet his kneecaps. Overall… I don’t like whoever this is. Looks like a phony, pseudo-health nut San Andrean with too much time and money on his hands. 

He senses another presence, and turns around. DEVON? 

“Phoenix?” He yells surprised. “How lovely to see you here! Don’t tell me you’re seeing Franklin now!” 

I get out of the car, and adjust my sunglasses. “D-man. What a surprise. What are YOU doing here, at my friend Franklin’s place of leisure?” 

“Well, I was just heading out, actually! Don’t forget about what I said Franklin! Make the right choice!” _This sounds eerily familiar._ Devon jogs off, his cronies close behind him. 

“The fuck was that?” I ask. At the same time, Franklin yells “Fuck, man!” 

He looks all around him, clearly bothered. “Fuck, fuck, FUCK! Phoenix, I’m FUCKED!” 

“What’s wrong, Franklin?!” 

“Man, imagine the worst-case fuckin scenario that screws things up for all us. Steve asked me to kill Trevor-” I wince hard. “And now Devon asked me to kill Michael.” 

“Michael? Why?” 

Franklin throws his hands up. “He killed his assistant or something.” 

“Michael killed Devon’s assistant? Why?!” 

“I don’t know, I think it was an accident. The only person who would give a fuck about that would be Trevor.” 

I tilt my head. “Why?” 

Frank’s eyes widen. “Never mind. I can’t kill both of them. I don’t know if I want to kill either one of them. Phoenix, I don’t know what to do!” 

“Why don’t we talk to someone who does?” I inquire. Franklin looks at me, confused. “Let’s get Lester on the line. Maybe he’ll have some ideas. I think best with him.” 

And so we do. Franklin and I make our way over to Lester’s, together.


	45. Simple Complications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lester and Phoenix put their heads together. Phoenix has a headache.

_**El Burro Heights, Los Santos, San Andreas** _

My phone lights up with several texts as I commute to Lester’s. _You did tell Trevor you’d be back hours ago._ Fuck. 

_Cum back soon. T_

 _Will do. Have some things to take care of first. PM_

When we get to Lester’s, Franklin explains the situation at hand. I’m not quite listening to their decision-making, though, because my phone is bombarded with text messages. 

_See you soon._

_See you soon._

_See you soon._

They’re all from the same anonymous number as the first text. I quickly delete them all, trying to refocus as to how we’re going to deal with the situation at hand. 

“I say… kill Michael, then kill Trevor.” _WHAT?_

“WHAT?” I scream. “You’re kidding me, right?” 

“I-I-I don’t know! We’re fucked, Phoenix! You know? I’m trying my best” Lester shouts, swiveling around in his chair with frustration. _Sigh._ It’s fair. 

“How could we possibly save them both?” I ask desperately. “Not to be dramatic, Franklin, but if you kill either one of them, I’ll kill you.” 

Franklin rolls his eyes. “Then let’s figure something out, because I’m dead fuckin’ out of ideas.” 

_Think, Phoenix, think! How can we get all three of them out of this situation? Michael’s on Devon’s shitlist, which means his Merryweather guards will be watching him; if Franklin doesn’t take him out, they will. And then off Franklin for not doing it. Steve Haines will hunt Trevor to the ends of the earth to salvage what’s left of his career, and Trevor’s not going to go down without a fight. It’s going to end badly no matter the outcome. Devon… Merryweather… the FIB…_

“Okay…” I start. “Devon Weston must have close ties with Merryweather to have them hired as bodyguards all the time.” 

Lester is already picking up what I’m putting down. “Yes… he’s- A, known to be a major asshole, and B, close with Don Percival, CEO of Merryweather… I think he even has a share in it…” The keyboard is clacking rapidly. “Yup, eleven percent. Fucking pseudoliberal, owning a private army…” 

“Right… okay, so listen. The FIB wants revenge for what happened at Kortz Center. Merryweather wants Trevor’s head on a silver platter for all the times he’s messed with them. Now-” 

Lester grins widely. “I see what you’re getting at. What if they were to… be informed of the bullion we just lifted?” 

“The bull-what now?” Franklin asks. 

“The gold,” I explain. “They’d want to catch us for all the gold we just nicked. What if we were to… er, get them in the same place? To ‘apprehend’ us?” 

“I could tell them you’re over at the foundry melting it down. They’d head over there and… 

“BAM!” We both yell, high-fiving. “BUST!” 

Franklin throws his hands up. “Shit, why not. I’m all out of ideas.” 

“Alright. We need to move on this as soon as possible.” I state. “Like, now.” I look over to Lester, who’s already typing away on his keyboard, presumably to Haines and Weston. With that silent affirmation, we take off. 

Before we descend the stairs to Frank’s bike, he stops. “I think I’m going to get Lamar on board with this. I’ll need to go pick him up. Want me to help you boost a ride?” 

“No, I’ve got it. I’ll walk a ways to get away from Lester’s. Don’t worry about me. Let’s do this with all the help we can get.” I shove my hands in my pockets and start to strike away as I hear _Wassup?_ from Franklin’s speakerphone. 

It’s now or never. It’s time to finish this shit once and for all. With these guys out of the way… the ones that have caused my friends (and I) so much grief… we’ll be able to live our lives out however we want. I could open up the self-defense school for girls that I’ve always dreamed of. Imagine… no more drama, so I can be a teacher. I can help young women fend for themselves, and become independent. Women deserve the chance to save themselves. I’ve never needed a man to take care of me, not my entire life… I could use these skills for a purpose. I could have purpose. Maybe my course could steer in another direction. It could matter. I could matter… 

“What’s the matter? Boyfriend ditch you?” _WHACK!_


	46. Angels and Demons

_**???, Los Santos, San Andreas** _

Every nerve in my brain felt severed. An excruciating pained seared like a thousand lightning strikes laid waste to that particular spot on my head. My heartbeat pulsed from the tumorous bulge behind my right ear. There are black spots dancing in front of me, deterring perfect vision. 

I can’t move my head, but my eyes loll around my surroundings. I’m in a… garage? In my peripheral, I see a gorgeous black Tornado with the license plate MONIED. Oh, fuck. I know exactly where I am. 

“DEVON? Where are you, you bastard?!” I call out, but my head pounds with each word. _Fuuuuuck. What did he hit you with?_

“Hellooooo, angel!” I hear from behind me. Devon strolls into view with a nonchalant whistle. He’s spinning around a baseball bat, its end cap soaked in blood. _That explains your migraine._

“D-man.” I say curtly. “What a nice surprise, seeing you. Again. Against my will.” I look down to my hands, cuffed to a post. _Looks familiar..._

Devon laughs. _Sociopath._ “Yes. Unfortunately, I see exactly what Franklin’s up to, plotting against me! So, I need some leverage over him so he doesn’t come and try to kill me!” 

“Oh, it won’t be Franklin coming for you.” I laugh back confidently. Devon’s eyes shade with fear for just a split second, but his douchey demeanor reemerges. 

“Ahh, yes. Trevor. Well, we’re sending, like, a hundred Merryweather men to the foundry. I wouldn’t count on him being here. Or Michael. Or Franklin, for that matter. And when they die… well, you’ve served your purpose for me.” Devon clicks his tongue and runs his finger over his throat. _Gulp._

He starts to stride away, but stops for a second. “You know, I had a good feeling about you.” He looks back at me. “I broke my ‘twenty-and-under’ rule to come talk to you. Why did you choose a deranged killer who stinks like piss living in the boondocks over a suave billionaire? Huh? What about that night made you think you should come home to Trevor Philips over Devon Weston?” His voice almost sounds a little deflated. 

I deliberate my next words carefully. I don’t want to sound too crass, or he could just kill me now. His ego seems a bit bruised… should I rub salt in the wounds, or play it cool? _What would Trevor say in a situation like this? Something gross about “coming”, or he’d call Devon a slimeball libertarian dressed as a limousine liberal, or he’d just spit on him. None of those options seem like the right one._ Oh, fuck it. I’ve had it with this guy. 

“First of all… I am a Mare. I’ve got money at my disposal. Aside from that… technically, once Trevor and I make our money from the Union Depository, combined with the profits from his business, we’ll have more money than you.” I start, hitting him right where it hurts. 

“Second, growing up where I did, Devon, where love was measured by and given for your assets, I don’t love according to who can give me _things._ Trevor is loyal, cunning, and he provides me with everything I actually need. 

"Thirdly, and finally… you’re not that good-looking. Mr. Philips may be consistently drenched in blood and dirt, but I’ll be damned if I ever sleep with a man who wears shorts that are shorter than his underwear. I’ll take T in my airplane panties over your upper-class ass any day.” 

Devon did not like this answer. His neck veins start to swell, and his cheeks are visibly redder. “You bitch.” He stands up straight, moving into a tree pose, exhaling annoyingly loud. “Namaste. Everything in due time. Balance. Balance.” He closes his eyes. 

“I’m going to balance out that bat by sticking the grip up your ass.” I taunt, encouraging him. He opens one eye, inhaling aggressively. 

“You don’t want to do this, Phoenix. I’m a very calm man. My guards aren’t so relaxed.” 

I throw my weight against the post and try to stand up with leg strength alone. The cuffs scrape hard against the metal, pulling against my wrist hairs. Annoying, but not painful. I pull myself into a squat, slowly and surely. I plead an internal prayer: _Do not give him the satisfaction of falling. And if you do, get back up again. Get back up again. Get back up again._ Big inhale. Push out. I force myself upward until I’m standing. 

“Look me in the eyes while you threaten me, you little bitch.” 

That did it. Devon opens his eyes wide, untangles himself from whatever ball-crushing yoga position he’s in, and quickly closes in on me. _Whack._ One hard slap across the face, combined with the head pain, blinds me. I stagger, almost falling back down. _Get back up again. Get back up again._

He looks me right in the eyes. His eyes don’t have the same blue shine as Michael’s, but they’re enough to make me stutter. _Michael. Please come for me, friend._ “Apologize.” Devon gets close to me; so close, in fact, I can smell his cheap cologne. It’s sour. “Apologize. Now.” Perfect. I spit in his face, and cackle. “You’re a huge bitch.” 

Devon grabs the sore on my head, pressing into the wound with one finger. I scream unholily. “Chad! David! Keep Ms. Mare here company. And keep her quiet.” He whistles at two armed Merryweather men, who come into view to cock their guns unnecessarily. “I’ll be seeing you, Phoenix. I’ll be at my poolside, relaxing. Want anything? A margarita?” He laughs, ambling back into the house. 

“DEVON! DEVON! GET BACK HERE, YOU PUNK BITCH!” I scream. The two guards just laugh, waving their guns around in forced menace. 

My knees buckle, and I fold.


	47. Get Back Up Again

_**???, Los Santos, San Andreas** _

“I have to go to the bathroom.” I whine. 

“Right. Like nobody watching over imprisoned people have never heard THAT one before.” The goonie laughs. “You think I’m so stupid I’ll let you go?” 

I scoff. “Are you so weak you can’t watch over an unarmed, bleeding woman as she uses the restroom?” 

Chad-or-David looks at the other Chad-or-David, and shrugs. “Bitch has a point. She probably doesn’t even know how to use one of these.” He slaps the barrel of his rifle, snickering. _Oh, you poor, stupid man._ One points his barrel at my heart while the other releases me from shackles, leading me out of the garage. 

How this man is so stupid that he’d let me use Devon’s personal bathroom inside the mansion is beyond me; he clearly hasn’t been hired for his intelligence. I say nothing as one of them pushes me in the bathroom, locking both of us in from the other one. _Excellent. One at a time is even easier._

“You’re going to watch me go?” I ask. “It’s my time of the month.” 

“Aren’t you a little old to be getting those?” The guy laughs. _Hmm. You could’ve thought that one out a little better._

I roll my eyes, unzip my pants, and sit down. I don’t have to force it; I must have been sitting on that floor for hours. As I go, I nonchalantly look around, as though curious of my surroundings… _What can I attack him with? There’s got to be something, anything I can use to throw him off his guard…_

“Hurry up. Let’s go. Devon’ll kill me if he sees us here.” 

“Give me a second, man. I’ve been holding this in forever.” I slowly finish my business, still grasping for an idea. Fuck. FUCK. I’m not going back to that garage. 

As I turn to flush… _lightbulb._

I grip the tank cover from the toilet. “I think I’m gonna be sick. I’m going to throw up.” 

“Jesus Christ, lady, I don’t have time for this. You can throw up in the garage.” I hear his approaching footsteps, and I make my move. 

As he places his hand on my shoulder, I take the cover off the tank, turn around, and smash it across the guard’s face as hard as I can. He goes down immediately, but he’s not out yet. Still holding the cover, I pull it above my head and strike down on his head with all the power in my body. _Thwack, thwack, thwack._ He doesn’t make a sound as I slowly bludgeon him; I stop when he’s unconscious. I don’t care to kill him; Devon’s the top of that list now. 

“David? Come on, man. Boss is gonna come in here soon. He had that kale smoothie…” 

Your turn, Chad. I strip David of his protective gear, slipping on his Merryweather uniform and helmet. I even take his sunglasses. I arm myself with his rifle. Thankfully, it’s already tricked out with a suppressor. _Makes your life easier._ I flip the near-naked man on his back, and take a lasting look at one of my kidnappers. _If we ever see him again..._

I silently turn the knob, hoping Chad is just hanging around waiting. He’s not. He makes me immediately, and takes a swing at me. I duck, and take him by the legs. He comes crashing to the ground with me, and the wind is knocked out of me when his rifle butts into my belly. Gasping for air, I dive my knee into his neck. The gear makes me heavier, thankfully, because he can’t push me off as easily as he could have. He sets his gun off by accident, and it pierces the window opposite us. _Shit. No time to be a pacifist anymore._ I throw my weight into my knee, and I hear him spitting and gagging… then, it’s silent. 

Silent until the heavy footsteps of more soldiers come trudging through the house. Fuck! I look around, and there’s nowhere to run without finding a Merryweather. I look back to the window, now grazed with a bullet hole, and I know what I have to do. 

It is very difficult to train your mind to accept that you’re going to go crashing through a window. I take both guns, confiscated from Chad-and-David, and knock out as much glass as I can, but there’s still a screen dividing me and the outside. 

“There they are! Get him!” The guard screams. I take a breath, and run full force at the window. 

I go through much quicker than I thought. I soar through the air momentarily; is this what it feels like to be weightless? As I crash onto the grass, I peer around for a way out. The whole mansion is heavily gated with steel reinforcement. Oh well. You never know until you try. I sprint down the driveway toward the entrance gate. This uniform is so heavy, but it protects me so well, so I’ll have to suffer. I throw the gates back and just run. 

I run until I’m met with a car. Literally. I hear brakes screeching and a woman yelling in Spanish as I crash into the windshield.


	48. An Anti-Climactic Showdown, Part One

_**Murrieta Heights, Los Santos, San Andreas** _

I run until I’m met with a car. Literally. I hear brakes screeching and a woman yelling in Spanish as I crash into the windshield. 

Thank God I kept this uniform on; it’s probably what saved me. My helmet bounces me off the windshield rather than my poor head going through it; pain erupts across my head and face, but I can deal with that seeing as I’m not dead. When the driver comes to a complete halt, I peel off the windshield onto the gravel in front of the car. 

“Poor, lady, _lo siento!_ I am so sorry!” I force myself to get back up again, fearful of approaching guards. I dive into the passenger seat, and look at the lady. Oh my God. It’s- 

“PATRICIA?” I shout. “Oh my God! Mrs. Madrazo! DRIVE!” Gunshots echo through the fall air as Patricia stamps her foot down, shooting us off and away from the Weston mansion. 

I breathe a small sigh of relief. “Patricia. My God. You saved my life just now.” I throw my helmet off and my arms around her, kissing her cheek. She laughs. 

“Oh, Phoenix. _Lo siento_ , my dear. You came out of thin air.” Her voice is so comforting, and so calm despite just running me over. “What were you doing? Why do you look like that? Are you hurt?” 

I lean back into my seat, putting my seatbelt on. “I’m fine. I’m good. I was in a bit of a… predicament back there. Please, could you just take me into the city? I really need to get to Murrieta Heights.” 

“ _Si, si_ , I can get you into city limits. I can’t be gone long, though. I… I took the car without Martin’s permission.” She doesn’t sound nervous. She actually sounds… amused. I look at her, and there’s excitement plastered on her face. 

“Patricia… Oh, Mrs. Madrazo, what did you do, you sly devil?” I giggle. She laughs, too, patting my hand. 

“It’s beautiful, Phoenix. Our marriage _es más fuerte que nunca_. I can do whatever I want, I’m no longer screamed at… it’s how I remember Martin to be. You, Trevor, Michael… you did a beautiful _theeeeeng_ for me. I’ll always be grateful for you… How is Trevor?” 

I smile. “Erm… he’s good. We’re real good, Mrs. M. All of us.” 

“Have you considered what I said to you? To give him a chance?” She pushes. 

“Uh…” I trail off, not sure how to answer. Sure. I gave him a chance, alright. We haven’t had time to discuss it, though, on account of all the… action. 

“YOU DID! You did! Oh, _dios mio!_ I’m so happy! Please invite me to the wedding!” Patricia squeals in delight. “He’s a _good, good_ man. And you are a _good, good_ woman. I’m very happy with this.” 

_Uncomfortable_. “Yeah, it’s not like that, Mrs. M…” My cheeks are hot. “We… uh, we didn’t exactly sort it out like that… we just…” 

“Oh. _Oh._ ” She realizes what I mean, and her dark skin tinges pink. “Well… make it happen. He’s a good man. You deserve love.” _Thank God this conversation is over._

Patricia drops me off near a taxi station; before she takes off, I embrace her tightly. I am so grateful she went for a drive today. I take off for the station, hailing the first man I saw. 

It’s not a long drive up towards the foundry. I make him stop about a mile beforehand, so he doesn’t get caught up in the gunfire. Weirdly enough… I hear none. The air is so still. All is quiet in Murrieta Heights. 

I walk begrudgingly up the hills to the foundry, rifle steady. I can’t see any of my friends… where are they? Am I too late? Too early? No… I see… Franklin! Franklin and Lamar! I’m right on time! I start to pick up the pace, running full-speed ahead to the boys. 

“GUYS! Frank! LD! I’m here! I have a story for you!” _BANG._

Once again… I am eternally grateful to myself for stealing that Merryweather gear. The bulletproof vest catches the bullet that Lamar tries to release into me. I can’t blame him; I AM donning the paramilitary’s apparel. I throw my helmet off; my bouncy red hair unfurls from underneath in a tangled mess upon my head, a dead giveaway to my identity. 

“Lamar, you idiot! That’s Phoenix!” 

“Oh shit! Sorry Phoenix! You look like one of them Merryweather dudes!” Lamar shouts from the distance. I catch up to them, breathing heavily. 

I put my hand up before he speaks again. “All good. I hope I’m not late. I got… well, it doesn't matter. But after we’re done with this shit, Devon Weston is going down.” 

Franklin looks at me, bewildered. “Fuck. Tell me later. They’re on their way here now. I’m going in to find Michael and Franklin. Phoenix, you in?” 

“Hell yeah, I’m in.” I cock the rifle. “Let’s do this.” 

Lamar eyes me up. “Maybe lose the Merryweather gear, so Michael and Trevor don’t try to cap your ass, too?” 

“Lamar,” I say, stripping out of the gear. “That’s the smartest thing I’ve ever heard you say.” 

“Thank you! Now go! I’ll call when they’re creepin’!” Lamar yells, waving us off. Franklin and I slip into the foundry. 

I hear very faint shouting in the distance. I recognize Michael’s voice. _“Yeah, I’m bringing a rifle! It’s a good gun! It’ll get the job done!”_

Franklin runs ahead. As the voices grow louder, I observe Michael and Trevor… aiming guns at each other’s throats. _Ugh. Not again. Not this time._ Frank threatens to kill them both if they don’t show up, they threaten each other again, blah, blah, blah… _You know the drill by now. They love each other too much to actually kill each other. Just save it._

“Sugar!” Trevor yells happily. “How nice of you to be here for us! I missed you this morning!” 

“Later, Trevor! We’ve got some bad guys to kill, my love!” I shout, much to his delight. He fires a celebratory shot into the air, to Franklin and Michael’s chagrin. “Franklin, where do you want us?” 

Franklin deliberates, and barks out orders. I take a position with Michael… idiot’s armed with a simple rifle. _You are, too, dummy._ Not by choice. I… requisitioned it. _Two dummies are better than one._

And finally… the saints come marching in.

Crouched down, I see several FIB agents swarm in together. Silence hangs in the air, a thick, yet invisible fog. Through our headsets, Franklin barely dares to breathe. _“Three… two…”_

“THEIR RECKONING IS UPON THEM!” Screams Trevor from the entrance. _Idiot._ I stand up, and start firing. 

There are so many bodies; it’s a damn factory of death in here. I lay waste to incoming agents on the balcony level, methodically weaving through the foundry with guns blazing. Everything is so loud; between the almost-musical pumping of the foundry equipment, gunfire, screaming, and Franklin and Lamar conversing in our headset, my mind can’t tune anything out. It’s so hard to be aware of my surroundings because my surroundings are an unstoppable tidal wave of white noise. Frank goes to help LD outside; I want to help, but there’s no way we’re getting outside until more of these guys kill each other. 

Then come the Merryweather troops. Uniforms like the ones I just peeled out of come parading in, firing aimlessly. They’re less strategic than the FIB, probably because they just want to see bloodshed instead of methodical military execution… not that there’s a difference. 

“...Trevor? T, T, come in! Guys, I think Trevor’s in trouble. There’s an FIB team where I last saw him, and he ain’t responding!” Michael’s shouts come in through the headset, amplified by his close proximity to me. “Phi, you or me?” 

Trevor? “Go, Michael! I can give you better guard up here!” I plead. “Please… find him.” 

MT nods at me. He rushes over the top of our barricade without hesitation, dropping about eight feet below. He scrapes the melting pot with his boot. Michael Townley is one lucky mother fucker to have not dived right into it. _Idiots, all of you._

I keep close guard, scoping the area below me. Just when I think the coast is clear, a few men jump Michael in a hail of ammunition. _Deep breath. One by one. Leave no witnesses, just as Father used to say._ One. Two. Three. Four. Dropped. 

“Trevor! Can you stop being an asshole please?” Mikey asks through the headsets. 

“Just get to him, Michael! Please! Tell me he’s okay!” I beg, voice cracking. _You have to get your shit together, Phoenix. You’re useless if you shoot emotionally._

Finally, thankfully, I once again catch that growling voice, so aggressive and staunch. “Took a TO. Nice to see you so worked up.” 

“Ugh, Trevor,” I start. “Don’t do that again.” 

“I’ll try my best, sugar! Are you okay up there by your lonesome? I could come and we could… you know… like last night-” 

“Aaaaand that’s all I need to hear!” Michael interrupts him loudly. I chuckle, refocusing. 

Minutes go by, and more men become ghosts. _Yeah, and for what?_ For what? _Oh, not another dramatic monologue!_ To save my friends. To show the police and government that they can’t bully us into silence. To demonstrate the consequences of messing with… well, with Phoenix Mare, Trevor Philips, Michael De Santa, and Franklin Clinton. You try to order us around? Tell us what to do, how to think, or who to put down? You’re in for a world of pain. And trying to pit us against each other? As though Franklin or I would sit idly as fucking _Steve Haines, Dave Norton,_ or _Devon Weston_ turn us into rats? I’ll be damned to ever betray my friends the way they coerced Michael into it once. We’re no saints… no _angels_... we’re Hell on Earth if you try to split the ground from underneath our feet. We own this shit. We run this shit. 

The sunlight is sobering as I step out, squinting as I look for my friends. Sweat leaves my hair plastered to the nape of my neck, and the stench of blood is inescapable as it soaks through my clothes. 

“Michael? Trevor? Franklin? Where are you guys?” I ask. 

“I’m over where you saw me and LD! Come over!” Franklin replies. I grunt in understanding and head over. “It’s time to tie up some fuckin’ loose ends!”


	49. An Anti-Climactic Showdown, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to take care of a few loose ends before more knots become untangled.

_**East Los Santos, San Andreas** _

I run over to the regrouping point, to see Michael keeled over, out of breath; Franklin sheathing a pistol; and Trevor, eyes darting around looking for more victims. I wipe beads of sweat from my forehead. “That… was a lot. What a mess.” 

“We’ve only begun to clean this shit up,” Franklin starts. “We got a lot of old friends who I think need to be re-educated.” 

“A lot of friends! I mean, things could get reeeeally messy!” Trevor exaggerates by flailing his hands around. I roll my eyes. _He’s right, though. How many more bodies are we dropping to save our own asses?_

Michael shakes his head in disagreement. “No. We just need to silence a few noisy people. Let’s see… there’s… Steve Haines.” 

“Dave Norton.” Trevor and I say collectively. We look at each other and smile. 

“No! We need him alive!” Michael retorts. “So nobody fucks with us afterwards.” 

_...Hold on. So the guy that tried killing us years ago gets to live just because Michael says so?_ “Who’s to say the rest of the FIB won’t come after us? What’s his incentive to leave us alone?” I argue. “I don’t think that’s fair. I think he needs to be put down, too.” 

“No way, Phoenix. Dave’s a good...ish, guy. Come on. Who else?” 

And, so the list was made: Steve Haines and not Dave Norton- _sigh_ ; Wei Cheng and the rest of the Chinese gangsters that showed up to Trevor’s place that one time; some guy named Stretch and some of the other Ballas that screwed Franklin over. Now, it’s time to recommend- 

“Devon Weston.” I state curtly. 

“I want him as dead as anyone else, but why you, Phi? What’d he do to you?” Michael teases. “Dated him, and now you want him dead? What, did he forget to text back?” 

Trevor snarls, glaring at Michael. He looks back at Trevor. “What?” 

“What?” Trevor spits out sarcastically. “They didn’t _date_. They never _dated_.” 

Franklin laughs. “Chill out, man. It’s a joke. We know that.” 

“Anyway,” I interrupt as Trevor opens his mouth to retort. “If you need to know, he kind of, uh… kidnapped me this morning.” 

All three heads snap toward me, and six eyes furrow with concern. “He WHAT?” 

_Maybe not the best lead-in to this conversation. You could worked in a little smoother._ “Well, I took care of myself, didn’t I? He was onto you, Franklin. Something about his little visit to your house? He needed leverage against you.” 

“He visited your house?” Trevor’s bewildered. “Why?!” 

“Look, man, I think you guys need to know something.” Franklin begins. Turning to Trevor, he explains, “Steve Haines asked me to kill you.” Looking at Michael, Franklin says, “Devon told me to kill you. I didn’t think I could kill either of you, so I asked Phoenix and Lester for help. This is the best shot we’ve got. We can sit and ask questions, or we can go kill these mother fuckers!” 

Michael and Trevor look at Franklin, then me, then each other. “Well… shit. That’s some loyalty, brother.” Trevor chimes in after a long pause. 

“Yeah… Thanks, Franklin.” Michael agrees. “Trevor… Look, let’s just get this shit done and whatever happens after, happens. Let’s at least get Franklin and Phi out of this.” 

Trevor nods, cracking his knuckles. “I’m trying to get _in_ Phoenix, but whatever. Let’s do this.” 

“Trevor!” I yell over his laughter. “Jesus Christ. Can we get to this?” 

“Amen. Who’s doing what? Let’s call Lester!” Michael urges. 

Lester tracks our unlucky targets, and we divide the jobs up. Franklin takes the Chinese gangsters, Michael takes the regular gangsters, and Trevor… well, of course Trevor has “wanted to ice that fucker” Steve Haines from the get-go. _That one will be rather satisfying to hear about over the radio tomorrow._ Agreed. 

“Fine. That leaves Devon to me.” I insist. “I’ll sneak in as a guard. I have plenty of uniforms to choose from.” 

“Woah! You are not going there alone!” Trevor remarks. 

“Why not?” Michael retorts. “It’ll save us time, and nobody will tie her to it. Don’t want her to be alone with Devon?” 

I can feel Trevor’s blood pressure rising from where I’m standing. “Come on, Michael. Not funny. Trevor, I can do it. Where’s your sense of adventure?” 

Trevor’s eyes sparkle at that question. “You… Fine! Just be careful, Phi.” We start to part ways, but Trevor leaves a fleeting mark that leaves Franklin disturbed: “I’m not going home alone tonight! It’s YOUR turn to be cuffed to that bedpost all night! That shit hurt!”


	50. An Anti-Climactic Showdown, Part Three

**_Del Perro Pier, Los Santos, San Andreas_ **

Franklin kicks up dirt with his motorcycle, disappearing in a green flash. Michael slips away, past the foundry, to his car, and sets off for Strawberry. I just now realize that I don’t have a car to get to Devon’s mansion, as I hitched a ride here from Mrs. Madrazo. _Idiot. You put up an argument to take on Devon yourself… and you don’t have the means to do it._

“Haines only has a short window of time before he’s done filming his show over on the pier. Help me boost a ride, and I’ve got it.” I plead. I’m not great with this whole _Grand Theft Auto_ thing yet, as I nearly broke my hand the last time I tried. 

Trevor clicks his tongue. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. And you said MY plans were poorly thought out? Looks like you’ll have to cuddle up to Daddy until we can get you to Devon’s. We’re going together, like I said.” 

“Come on, Trevor! You know I can do it alone!” 

“Clearly not, as you seem to have barely made it out the first time! Look at you! You’re so battered, you belong in a shelter for women! Your nose is all weird again. Did he hit you?!” 

I reach for his hand, and grasp it firmly. “Trevor. I’m fine. He’s going to get what’s coming to him, anyway.” 

Trevor clutches my hand tightly, weirdly relaxed through his iron grip. “I want to go with you.” 

I give up, groaning in annoyance. “Fine.” I begrudgingly get in the truck. 

“Th- Thaa….” Trevor stutters. “ _Thank you,_ Phoenix.” 

My eyes feel taped open torturously, and I can’t hold back the faked enthusiasm. “Trevor Philips is… is THANKING someone? Expressing gratitude for somebody’s good intentions?” I pretend to faint, falling over into his lap. 

“Ha, ha, ha. Real fuckin’ funny, Phi.” He forces out a fake laugh. He rubs my hair sweetly before I sit back up. T lets go of my hand and rubs his finger against my cheek. “Remember the last time I fixed your face?” 

“Wha-” _CRACK!_ Trevor grabs my nose and, in a twisted sense of déjà vu, he snaps it back into place once more. “You asshole!” 

“All better! Now, let’s go!” The Bodhi’s engine roars to life, and we head to our next destination: Del Perro Pier. 

It’s not a far drive, but the anticipation drags it out much longer. 

_“You better watch who you’re fucking talking to, bitch. I’m not one of your shitbag friends like ‘The Three Cunts’,” He gestures at Trevor, Franklin, and Michael. “I am not someone you want to be messing with.”_

I can’t say I’m feeling any particular way about plotting Steve Haines’s murder; in fact, I’m rather indifferent. From the drunken stories Michael and Trevor have told me, he’s a real piece of work anyway. From forcing Michael to kidnap some poor guy, to- well, he definitely didn’t have to force Trevor to torture him, but he took full advantage of Trevor’s personality- to coercing them into robbing the Blaine County Savings Bank. If you think about it, I’ve been secondhand affected by this! I just wanted to have meaningful, peaceful relations with my friends, and make some money along the way! Not this! _You’re starting to sound more and more like Trevor with every passing moment._ I’m being sarcastic, of course, but I still don’t care. 

Before we hit the pier, Trevor pulls over in the customer parking lot. “I’ll go for this one. I need this one. Can you play getaway, my love? Drive us up as far as you can go, and I’ll get it done.” 

“You got it, T. I’m with you.” 

Trevor takes off for the pier. I sit idly in the truck as the engine runs. I flip through the radio stations until my headset beeps. 

“Lester, see if you can get us into his radio mic. I want a last reminder of what an annoying prick he is. Fuckin’ traitor.” 

I patch in as well, but I’m a bit far to hear everything. _“A city of saints… a city of sinners… nothing between but the FIB…”_ That annoying, _douchey_ voice. I hold my breath with anticipation. 

Just then- _whiz!_ I nearly fly out of my seat when I listen to the direct moment Steve Haines’s brain was met with a bullet. _Damn._ “Oh my God! What’s his name? They shot him! Jesus fucking Christ!” 

Aaaaand that’s my cue. I throw the truck into drive, spinning it out and around for Trevor to make a smooth transition in. Four armed FIB agents are sprinting ahead from the Ferris wheel, guns pointing directly at us. Trev leaps into the car without opening the door, and his head crashes into my groin. I let out a soft groan as I slam the accelerator. 

I zip out of the parking lot, narrowly avoiding pedestrians. I can’t believe how oblivious these people are sometimes. I praised people of Vespucci for their realness, but with realness comes ignorance… We hit a bump as I spin a 180 onto the main roads, and, without a seatbelt, I fly upwards. I veer sideways and overcompensate the turnaround. I see one lone Vespucci Beach security guard make direct eye contact with me. He must have been radioed into the police scanners, because he makes us right away. 

That’s all I remember before a seething pain rips through my chest. I remember the shock of looking down at a blood-soaked tee. I remember thinking to myself, _A dirty, bloody white shirt and ripped jeans. I look like a girly Trevor right now._ I remember looking over to Trevor as he screamed with more pain than I’ve ever heard him express in our lifetimes. 

“PHOENIX!” He screams, grabbing the wheel as I let go, falling over. That’s when the convulsions start. I remember spinning out momentarily. 

The sirens. The sirens are so loud. I am so scared. I can’t breathe. I CAN’T BREATHE! My heart. My heart. I’ve experienced heart pain before, like somebody was autopsing it right out of its cage. A vision dances before me. The image is somebody taking my heart out as I watch and internalize the pain of somebody prying it open with a scalpel, then throwing it on the ground and stomping on it. And who is that somebody? It’s Enya. ENYA! GET OUT OF MY HEAD! GET OUT OF MY HEART! SOMEBODY HELP ME! 

“PHOENIX!” I come to. It’s dark; there are no illuminating street lights. It’s quiet; there are no sirens or shouting policemen. “Phi! Baby! You’re hallucinating! She’s not here!” Fuck. I must have been shouting. 

“Fuck,” I start, clutching my chest. “I’m not letting a _mall cop_ kill Phoenix Mare.” 

Trevor laughs, then sniffles. Through my befogged state of being, I notice him wipe his face. 

“Trevor Philips, are you crying over me? You sap.” 

“No! I’m not!” Trevor coughs over his sniffling. “I’m not a bitch.” 

I giggle, but the aching in my chest stops me. “Trevor… I don’t know if I’m going to make it.” 

I feel so weak. I feel so defeated. I can’t stop thinking about how Brad probably felt in his final moments… how I thought Michael would feel had he actually thought those were his final moments… is this how it feels to die? Is it going to hurt? Am I going to close my eyes and float through the sky? _Phoenix, you are so dramatic. You are not dead. Can you pay attention to your lover literally pulling the bullet out of you?_ Huh? Trevor takes off his shirt, exposing his muscled torso once more. _This won’t be a bad way to die. At least I’ll have a nice view before I wait for him in Hell._ He shoves it in my mouth, and I gag hard. It stinks of sweat and mud. “You’re going to need that, darlin’.” 

I realize why. Trevor sticks his finger directly into my wound, poking around for the bullet. I screech through the shirt, feeling myself fade out of consciousness. Trev slaps me hard across the face. 

“I’m sorry, but you have to stay awake, baby! You’re not leaving me here in this God-forsaken city alone! P-Please don’t leave me.” I almost don’t hear the last phrase, because I feel out of my own body as he is _literally_ now poking around in my guts. _Heh._

Finally, after what felt like hours of excruciating pain, Trevor holds it up to inspect. “Got it. You’re gonna be okay, Phi. I’ll take care of you.” 

I black out.


	51. Sweet Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phoenix's dream sequence. This is heavily based on Irish interpretations of dreams, and includes some Irish language. Note: While I am Irish (of course), I don't know the language firsthand. My daideó (grandpa) was the last real generation of Irish speakers in my family, as his parents were immigrants from Dalkey. My translations might be sketchy.

**_Somewhere in Phoenix’s Mind…_ **

I am falling, falling, falling. Sprawled out below me is Los Santos. The buildings I love craning my neck at and the people whose conversations I love listening to… everything about this city is so beautiful to me. Despite the corruption, crime, and crassness of everybody in it, my whole life is dependent on this city. I move with it. I breathe with it. I live for it. 

I am falling, falling, falling. Holy shit! I’m going to crash! I head straight for the ground at a disturbingly-fast velocity. I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die! I reach for my parachute, but the chute won’t deploy! Fuck, fuck, fuck! 

_Smash._ I look up. Long, empty, white halls stretch out before me. It’s cold, and the unwavering white lights blind me. I squint hard to see what’s ahead. It’s just cold, vast… nothingness. The walls are blank. The floor is blank. My head is blank. Where am I? Who am I? 

Then… _Mother._ My sweet, beautiful mother. She stands before me in a dress of white; it’s flowing in the same direction as her beautiful brown hair. I was always so fond of her hair, the way it looked so different than mine. It was everything I wanted to look like; rather than my unruly reds, I wanted her pin-straight brunette locks that cascaded down her shoulders effortlessly. She’s so beautiful. She will always be beautiful to me. 

“Mother? Mother?” I call out excitedly. She can’t hear me. She doesn’t even notice me. “Mother?” 

Still, my mother does not acknowledge my presence. I run for her, arms outstretched. I run, and run, and run. 

I make no progress. She’s just as far away as she was before! What is going on? 

“MOTHER! Mother, can you hear me? Imogen, it’s your daughter! It’s me! It’s Phoenix!” 

Finally, my mother turns. “Red?” 

“Yes, Mother. It’s me. It’s your Red.” I taste the salt as I collapse to the ground, sobbing. “Mother. Please. Come to me.” 

“I can’t, Phoenix.” Mother looks at me, smiling knowingly. 

I stutter. “W-why not?” 

“You know why.” Mother’s eyes are red. She’s crying. Oh, how I feel for her. I want to embrace her, smell her lilac perfume once more. I start to run again, but this time, I fall. I am chained to the floor. 

Mother looks at me dreamily. As she speaks again, a roar erupts out of nowhere. _Crack._ She mouths _I love you_ as the bullet sears through her chest, and she evaporates into the void. I close my eyes, and scream. 

I open my eyes. It is so dark. I can’t see anything. I can’t move. I can’t breathe. I look to my left, and there’s just blackness. I look to my right- nothing. 

Suddenly, three spotlights flash. Franklin. Michael. Trevor. Ropes and chains bind them to their chairs. I call out, but I’m as helpless as them. 

Emerging from the shadows is my sister. Her stomach- it’s gaping. I can see the emptiness behind her. What the fuck? She smiles darkly at me, and materializes a pistol. No. NO. NO! She stands several feet away, directly in front of Michael, the Mentor. The one who showed me everything I know now. He’s next. Enya sits down, straddling him, stroking his ego once more. She holds the pistol up close to his temple, massaging it. She whispers something into his ear… 

“Nelson in Naples,” He guesses. “Come on. Too easy.” _Crack._ The past. 

Franklin- the Innocent. If only I could save him. If only I could have saved him. He is so young, so full of decisions and naivety. I want to live day by day, like him. I want a life with no drama, no fake friends, no snakes. His eyes roll back into his skull as it is ripped apart by the metal cartridge. I cry out for my friend. 

“Whatever, man. At least I died doing something that matters.” _Bang!_ The present. 

Then… Enya turns to Trevor. She looks back at me, flipping the pistol into a box of matches and a jerry can. Not again. Please. Not again. 

Trevor, the Destroyer. Also the Lover. My hope. The one who single-handedly brought both destruction and peace to my life. Trevor, the fucking walking paradox. Trevor, with the contradictions. I could live the rest of my life robbing, stealing, and shooting… and if I can live it with Trevor, I’ll be totally content with it. I could also live out my remaining years normally; I could get a real job, and use the money I’ve taken for good… and Trevor could help me. He would. Two paths. Two choices. Same outcome. 

Enya dumps the gasoline over Trevor. He breathes in heavily, taking in the fumes. Idiot. Even facing an inevitable, fiery death, he still manages to make me laugh. He looks at me as Enya strikes the match. 

“Don’t blame yourself, sugar.” 

“For what?” I heave between words, choking on my cries. 

Trevor smiles. “For me. It’s not your fault. You can’t change me.” The light flickers, and he disappears into the engulfment. 

“NO!” I shriek, ripping free of the ropes. I take a bucket of water and throw it over him. The bucket is so heavy, and I topple over. 

_Splash!_ My lungs and nostrils fill with water. I cough and spit, emerging into fresh air. I swim back to shore, onto a beach. This isn’t Vespucci Beach, though… This is- 

“Portland Beach?” I ask aloud. I haven’t been here since I was a kid. Enya and I played sand volleyball with my schoolmates. I remember Packie accidentally spiked the ball into my face, and threw up trying to alleviate my nosebleed. He was never good with blood- how he got so far in his family business is beyond me. The beach is next to an industrial park, so it’s pretty dirty. It pales in comparison to Vespucci… but not really. The air is so thick with smog that the beach is enveloped in constant nighttime. 

Someone puts a towel around me. The Liberty air is so cool this time of year… the towel doesn’t help at all. I turn around, and face- 

“Father?” It feels like my bones are shrinking when I meet his eyes. He’s always towered above me in stature; that’s what made him so domineering as a child. I was always his spitting image; I was made in His image, for His purpose. Long hours at the gun range, endless hand-to-hands with Enya... countless days locked in the attic until I was ready for a human target. 

_Cailleach dúr tú!_ You stupid witch! You coward! _Seas suas le do namhaid!_ Stand up to your enemy!

“ _Dadaí.”_ I speak to my bully in his native tongue. I can barely remember any of it, but I had to know enough to eavesdrop on Father’s conversations with important business associates, as well as Packie’s family when I went over to play. 

“Phoenix,” Gallagher Mare says in his deep, bellowing voice. “ _Mo chéad-rugadh._ My first-born.” His green eyes pierce mine, and through them, I see myself. 

I see a childhood, destroyed by a ruthless man who saw his children as prodigal pawns in his crime monopoly, and not as tiny human beings so easily malleable, moldable to His desires. Enya and I were not born enemies, but taught as natural rivals for a stone-cold Father’s affections. Affections that did not exist. Affections that were never created. Not even manufactured affections. There was simply Father and nothing else. Nobody else. 

“Stupid, insolent child. You think you can run from me?” Father screams, lashing out again. I received lashes every Sunday as a reminder that my work is never done. The lashes reopen wounds I thought closed long ago. I wail in pain, absorbing every hit into my back and into my brain forever. 

_“Phoenix,” Trevor coos, tucking a loose curl behind my ear. “You are not your father. You never will be. You are not a duuuuur.” He tries to pronounce “stupid” in Irish, and it’s so bad, but I giggle and blush at his efforts._

“Yes. I can. I have so far.” I turn around, grabbing the ropes on the seventh lash. One hard yank pulls them from my father’s grip. “I am more than you think I am. I am not your first-born anymore, Gallagher. 

I am your only-born. I stopped Enya. I stopped your associates. And I can stop you. I’m coming for you, Father.” I lash out at him with all the strength in my body. Father falls to the ground, and disappears. 

“Phoenix, you’re not going to die yet.” 

“Phoenix, you cannot die yet.” 

“Phoenix, there’s more for you here.” 

_SLAP._

My eyes shoot open, and I spring up, punching outwards. I’m met with a tight, paralyzing embrace. I recognize the musty scent. I’m no longer dreaming. 

“Phoenix. You’re alive. Fuck, I thought I lost you.” Trevor states, holding me close, kissing the top of my head. “You’re okay.” 

“Shit, Trevor… my head. My heart. Everything hurts.” I cry. 

“I know… I know… You’re safe, though. I pulled the bullet out. We stitched you up. Now we’ve got work to do.” 

I sigh heavily. “You don’t know the half of it.”


	52. Searching, Part One

**_Strawberry, Los Santos, San Andreas_ **

“We’re gonna find that asshole.” 

“How? He’s probably long gone from his house. As soon as we took out the foundry, he was bound to be alerted. He could be sitting pretty in Vice City by now.” 

“Shit, I don’t know, Phi! There are a hundred places in Los Santos he could be holed up in, too! _Heh._ Holes.” 

I roll my eyes. Even at a time like this, Trevor is still dicking around. Michael and Franklin have probably already conquered their jobs, and T and I are running in circles for Devon. 

“Okay… I have an idea.” I weakly pull out my phone; after being out for so long, even the artificial glow of my iFruit is straining my vision. 

“Phoenix?” 

“Lester. Huge favor. Please.” 

Insert heavy sigh. “Again?” 

“Lester! This is serious, okay?! I just got shot. We lost our window of opportunity to meet Weston at his house. I need some serious computer-whiz shit to get a gauge on his location.” 

_Clack, clack, clack._ The zoom of his keyboard is obnoxiously audible. 

“Hmm… well, I’m not getting a ping on his current whereabouts. It hasn’t been too long since the foundry. Even if he was alerted, he couldn’t have made it far out of the city. It’s not like he escaped to Vice City or anything!” He chuckles, coughs, then snorts loudly. Trevor winks at me. _Jackass._

“Well, if we expected him to be on the outskirts of town… he’s probably hiding right in the city. What are some of his holdings?” Trevor asks. I can’t wipe the _I’m impressed_ off my face. I forget he’s pretty clever for an animalistic, instinctual idiot. 

And Lester is on the same wavelength. “I… I didn’t think of that. Hang on.” _Clickclickclickityclack._ “Alright… here we go… Well, he actually has a holding in the Vanilla Unicorn… didn’t you, uh, recently ‘acquire’ that, Trevor?” 

“Hells yeah I did. Let’s check it out. I’ll call Wade on the way.” 

The ride over is brief and painful. The sore in my chest aches with every pothole and speed bump. The gasp I emit is discernible when Trevor nearly misses an exit and jerks to the right, sending me flying into the door and almost over the side of the truck. 

“Sorry, babe. Just tryin’ to get there. You know how it is.” Back to that same apathy. 

Pulling up to the Vanilla Unicorn, Trevor slips a pistol from the glove compartment into his pocket. “Home sweet home! Let’s try not to scare the dancers, yeah? If anyone suspects anything, whatever’s left of Merryweather in seconds.” I nod. We head in. 

Gazing around, it’s hard to ignore the scantily-clad women and Wade’s droning on and on about clown makeup. I weave through beautiful bodies to the stage. The fluorescent purple and neon blue lighting is an all-too-familiar feeling. 

_**Farwaukee, North Yankton, 1993**_

“Phoenix! You’ve got a visitor. Make it quick; you’ve got a show soon.” 

I finish adjusting my hoops before standing up. “Who is it?” 

One of the bouncers, Sebastian, looks me up and down before shrugging. “Not sure. About your age, looks exhausted, smells like gasoline, and made verbal threats to people sayin’ they better not try to touch you when you go out there.” 

“Oh…” I’m shocked, as he’s never come to my… _other_ place of work before. “That’s… That’s Trevor.” 

“Is he gonna be a problem?” Seb asks. I shake my head. He worries too much; part of the reason our relationship fizzled out as quickly as it ignited is because he doesn’t think I can handle myself. Truthfully, he’s lived in this sheltered Midwestern world his whole life; I can’t blame him for not knowing who I am. _It’s a reason you liked him to begin with._ Yeah… but something kept nagging me to nip it in the bud. _Or someone…_ Shut up. 

“No. He’s a… friend.” I adorn myself with my robe, and slink out. Trevor is standing near the stage, hands in his pockets, slumped against the wall. When he sees me, he perks up. 

Walking over, he simply states- “Phoenix.” 

“Trevor.” I don’t know whether to hug this guy, or shake his head. I don’t know him well enough to remember his last name, much less greet him as some buddy of mine. “What are you doing here?” 

His eyes dart around. “I was, uh, in the neighborhood. Didn’t realize this was your thing, but I saw your name on the lineup for tonight. I knew I had to come see this for myself.” He laughs strangely, never breaking eye contact. _This dude is so weird._

“Oh… Well… I’m glad you’re here.” I comment, avoiding his gaze. “We’ll see to it that Seb gets you a nice seat.” Seb, behind me, glares, eyes like daggers. 

“Yeah. We’ll see.” He storms off. 

Trevor laughs. “Your boyfriend mad, or what?” There’s some severity to his question. 

“I guess.” I chuckle, but he doesn’t return the exchange. 

“So he is your boyfriend?” 

I shift around. “Uh… No. We fooled around a couple times, but that’s over now.” 

“Not for him.” Trevor’s curt words shake me a little. _Why are you so bothered by him? Why do you feel so compelled to explain yourself to him?_

His eyes darken. “Is he gonna be a problem?” 

“No, Trevor. What do you care?” 

“I don’t.” Seb whistles, and points to a seat near the front. Trevor slinks off before I can say anything else. 

…

Once I’m backstage again, I try to forget all about this strange encounter. I take shots with the other girls and prepare to headline. _Better enjoy this before you’re too old._ Stepping out on stage in my robe, I cue the DJ to start my song. 

Sauntering around, the cheers erupt in an ebb and flow of single men whooping with nothing to lose and guys with wives who definitely shouldn’t be there but don’t control their vices clapping solemnly. 

_“Tonight, I want to give it all to you…”_

I ditch the robe, revealing a cut-out black leotard. For the effect of the song, I don chains and a studded belt. I fall to my knees, whipping my signature red locks around as I crawl to the center stage. Flicking bangs out of my face… I see Trevor. He is so unmoving, unnerving, staring right at me… right into me. Closer and closer I go. A spectral rope pulls me in until we’re nose to nose. 

_"I was made for loving you, baby..."_

He tilts his head slightly, and if he’s going to- 

“Alright buddy, you’re out of here. DON’T touch the dancers.” Sebastian yanks Trevor up by the collar and tosses him backwards. The record scratches. 

I stand up angrily. “What the fuck, Seb?! That’s my routine! You just disrupted my entire dance!” Some of the patrons grunt angrily, not sure whether to keep ogling me or yell at the guy who ruined the atmosphere. However, most of them are too drunk to even understand what’s going on. _And they say chivalry is dead._

Seb grabs my arm. He reeks of whiskey. “I’m off the clock, baby. Not my problem. But I won’t let this fuckin’ creep touch you.” With that, he jerks me off the stage. My ankle comes crashing down at an angle that makes my bones feel shattered. I yelp in pain. 

“Sebastian! Stop it!” He ushers me away. As I limp out, I spot Trevor sitting up, rubbing his temples. _Shit, shit, shit. He’s going to hate you for this._

Outside, Seb thrusts me against the wall. “Why’d you get up in his face like that, huh? I thought we was supposed to be like that.” 

“Seb, you’re drunk. Again. Let me go. I need to ice my ankle, which you so kindly sprained!” I yelled, pushing him. He doesn’t budge; his solid chest just absorbs my blow. 

“Phoenix, nobody else is gonna protect you the way I can.” His words slur deeper. “I don’t understand why you won’t be with me. You slept with me, but you won’t love me? Is it that guy? That guy with the accent?” 

I groan, exasperated. “Look, I told you before we hooked up that it was casual. I don’t owe you anything. I’m not with Trevor, and even if I was, it’s none of your business.” 

Sebastian did not like this answer. He grips my arm so tightly, the blood pushes back into my chest. My heart starts racing. “You bitch. I’d say you owed me plenty.” He plants his mouth on me, but it’s more like a dog licking my face. 

“Ew! Sebastian, stop. I’m serious. You do not want to be doing this when Trev-” _Smack._ Seb’s grip loosens as he stumbles backwards by the blow of Trevor’s fist on the meat of his skull. 

“The lady said stop.” Trevor warns Sebastian in a low voice that chills my spine. “Can you hear? Or is that fat head of yours blocking your ear canals?” 

Sebastian shakes his head, regaining understanding. “I’m going to fucking kill you.” He lunges for Trevor, knocking him down in a one-arm clothesline. They wrestle on the ground for a bit; it’s hard to determine who’s winning in a back-and-forth of rolling around, coming out on top, and being knocked over again. _Do something! Don’t just stand there._

I lean down into the wedge of my stiletto boot, pulling out a knife. Holding it out at arm’s length, I study the scene. Trevor’s managed to get back up, but tumbles backward again. Sebastian towers above him; he already stands a clean 5 inches taller than T, but as Trevor lays sprawled on his back, Seb looks menacing. _Clean shot._

Drawing back to my ear, I release the knife with a flick, piercing Sebastian’s shoulder. He screams out in pain, staggering. I help Trevor up, holding him; his equilibrium is shot, and he falls into me. I drag him to the bench and sit him down while Sebastian tries to draw the knife out. 

“Look at me saving your ass again.” I say. “Wasn’t the shootout at the cemetery bad enough?” 

Trevor laughs. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever. Let’s go, yeah?” 

I nod. “Hang on, though. I need… I need that knife back. It’s my mom’s.” 

“Righty!” Trevor’s eyes twinkle. “Leave no evidence!” He steps over to Sebastian, who swats him away. He whimpers like a bitch as he pulls the blade out. 

With a clean and unnecessarily slow pull, Trevor removes the blade from Sebastian’s torso. He doesn’t leave without a warning: “She can handle herself, by the way. She didn’t need me. She would’ve nicked your heart if she wanted to. I suggest you get the fuck out of here, and don’t come back as long as she’s working here. Phoenix’s new entertainment manager is in town!” 

“Say what?” I asked. 

_**Strawberry, Los Santos, San Andreas, Present-Day**_

“I don’t know if he’s here.” Trevor says defeatedly. I look at him; he’s objectively scoping out the club, not even pausing to stare at the other women in here. _Sap._

I sigh. “Me either. We’ll keep pressing. Where else could we look?” 

“Let’s split up and cover more ground. I know you can fend for yourself, Phi.” He smiles, and I know we've had the same divination. _Did he just-_ Yeah… He did. _Great minds flashback alike._

Trevor stops abruptly at the club’s entrance. “Be careful, yeah?” 

“I will, Trevor. You know I can hold my own.” 

“I know. I told you that the day we met.” He hands me the keys to the Bodhi, gripping my hand tightly. “I, uh… Yeah. Be careful.” He awkwardly careens toward the alley, ripe with unsupervised cars to pluck. 

I let him get to the alley walls before I yell “Wait!” I scurry over and plant a kiss. “You, too. Don’t get yourself killed.” 

Laughing that weird, twisted titter, Trevor grabs my neck and pulls me in for another liplock. “Trevor Philips is immortal.” 

“Only when I’m around to save your ass.”


	53. Searching, Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO much for being so patient. I've missed you all so much! Can't wait to post more frequently again.

_**Elysian Island, Port of Los Santos, Los Santos, San Andreas** _

“Please, Lord, tell me how I ended up in a submarine with Phoenix Mare.”

_Isn’t that the million-dollar question?_ “It’s the most ideal location for him. Surrounded by Merryweather. We just take them out, find Devon, steal the helicopter at the end of the island, take him somewhere discreet, and kill him. That’s, like, five things.” 

Franklin sighs heavily. “Those are five big mother fuckin’ things! That’s a pretty positive way of looking at it, but shit! This is Trevor-type planning!” 

“Hey, now!” I laugh. “At least I know what we’re looking for! We’re not going in blindly!” 

“A little bit, though? We have no idea if he’s even here.” 

I sigh. “A little optimism would be fabulous right now, Frank. Let’s roll… or whatever this thing does.” 

The waters dance around us as we careen around the ocean floor, trying to avoid reef and fish. _Only you would care more about coral reefs than other human lives._ Coral is beautiful and innocent. People are not. The beautiful aquatic ravine brings me peace- _how are you peaceful with the fact that you’re breaking into a military port to assassinate a major shareholder of said military port?_ It’ll go smoothly. 

I surface as Franklin pops the top open, going out rifle-first. I hear nothing but his slowed breathing. A few moments later, he descends with a shrug. 

“Coast looks clear. Let’s roll.” 

We jump out of the sub and into the water. The neoprene is uncomfortably tight; I can’t wait to shed this hideous outfit later. _Sky daddy, if you can hear me- we’d like to make it out alive._

Franklin gestures over to the right of him, where a ladder awaits our ascendance. “That was too easy. I can’t swim for shit. I hate being in the water.” 

“Ha. Franklin Clinton, defying death and arrest every day, is afraid of a little water?” I tease. 

“Shut up! You know what they say about Black people. A man can’t swim!” 

I go first, one ridiculously large flipper at a time. The top platform seems miles away, and the wet _squishes_ of foot against the rung makes me cringe. Everything about this screams _“bad idea.”_ I stretch my arms out. Concrete at last. 

“Help me up!” I hiss. The water in the neoprene is weighing me down too much to gain proper footing. Franklin’s hand plants firmly on my behind, shooting me upward. I land on my face. _Oof._

As I pull rubber out of places I never thought rubber would be, I hear the faintest _Click._ I know that sound from anywhere. I kick my foot back, knocking Franklin back in the water. 

“You are trespassing on private _Youuuuu-nited_ States government property.” 

_Gulp._ I stare down my certain doom from the end of a semi-automatic, equipped by the largest man I have ever seen in my life. He towers above my small stature, and Franklin’s, too. This man makes Michael’s ego look small. His hair is a strawberry blonde, and it matches the mustache nesting on his beefy face. Overall, it’s a menacing look. 

“Uh…” I begin. “I was just… swimming around…” 

The man chuckles lightly. “Uh huh. You’re going to need a better excuse than that, ma’am. Now, place your hands above your head, and turn around.” 

I throw my arms up in submission. Think, Phoenix. You’re fucked! I turn around, inhaling deeply to avoid thinking about my heartbeat. “Sir… we mean no harm. We’re looking for someone.” 

“Oh, yeah? Who would that be?” 

Franklin comes shooting out of the water- literally. His bullets spray into the air, narrowly missing me. “Ain’t nobody stopping me from creepin’ on Devon!” The guard takes one to the shin, crying out in pain. He drops his gun. I leap for it, scraping against the pavement so hard that my suit rips open. My chest aches with pain as I land with a _thud. You’ve barely taken a minute to heal from being shot, and you’re doing softball slides. Nice._

I aim the gun at the guard. “I’m sorry. You seem like a nice guy. It’s a shame you work for government stoolies like Merryweather.” I headbutt him with the rifle, and he goes night-night. 

“Let’s roll!” Franklin hisses, grabbing my arm. We run over to a storage shed, dragging the guard with us. “Thank Lester for these waterproof bags.” Frank gets dressed as I strip the unconscious man of his gear, slipping it on. Way too big, but it’s better than nothing. The door creaks softly as Franklin looks out for passersby. 

He grunts softly. “Time to bounce. We gotta do this fast.” We sprint for the other side of the island. 

There are more Merryweather personnel than I count on three hands. And boy, once they notice, it’s utter chaos. We take shelter behind a docked ship; it’s under construction, so the extra plywood and equipment provide ample support. I blindly shoot into the crowd, and the gunfire is deafening. 

“Franklin! We gotta move! There’s no way we’re going to take down this many!” I scream. He nods. I whisper a prayer, leap up, and rush the helicopter pad. 

I start the chopper as I wait for Franklin. He’s still stuck behind the boat. Shit. Merryweather gains on both of us in a deafening crescendo of gunfire. Once the troops start piling onto the chopper, I begin the ascension. 

“Franklin! Come in, Franklin!” I scream into my headset. “Can you hear me?! What are we gonna do?!” 

“We have to get out of here, Phoenix! We ain’t gonna find Devon here!” 

Unbelievable. We didn’t even START looking for him. “I’m not leaving without Weston’s head on a platter!” 

“WE WILL DIE HERE, PHOENIX! Don’t be stubborn!” 

_He’s right._ I know he’s right! I’m just not ready to give up so easily! We won’t get another chance. The whole of Elysian Island will go on lockdown after this. If he slips away… the trail goes cold. _If you keep this up, Franklin will get killed. Think of something other than your personal vendetta!_

“UGH! FINE! Franklin, we have to go! You need to jump the docks!” 

“HELL NO!” 

“Do you trust me?!” 

Franklin scoffs loudly. “Trust ain’t got shit to do with it!” 

“Do you trust me, Franklin?! I will protect you!” 

I dip the heli down, dropping the rope ladder. Merryweather shoots upward, and I’m right in their line of fire. I duck, jerking the controls hard. 

“PHI! Come on, girl! Steady it out! I’m gonna get shot over here!” 

“Okay, okay! On my count, turn around and jump!” 

Steady… steady… steady… It’s just like shooting. Focus. Visualize. “Go, Franklin! JUMP!” 

Instinctively, without hesitation, pure trust. Franklin soars upright, grabbing the railing and throwing himself over it. Reaching out, his fingertips brush the ladder… 

Score! He nails it! I throw the steering device over as hard as I can, veering us left and upward. “Nice job, Franklin!” 

“I wouldn’t say that just yet! Blondie’s back!” 

_Huh?_ I hear a hard thud, followed by another one. 

“GET OFF ME, BRO! IT’S NOTHING PERSONAL!” 

“You… are… trespassing… on… Youuuuuu-nited States… property!” BANG! The shot rings out into the confined space of the chopper. I grab my ears instinctually, and we dip. I try to straighten us out, but we spiral downward. 

All I remember seeing is the billboard for Pibwasser. _Trevor’s favorite. BOOM._ The impact sends me crashing through the windshield onto the pavement. The fire and the flames are so intense… it’s so warm… it’s inviting… 

_“Franklin…”_ I try to scream out, but it’s barely a whisper. My voice is trapped somewhere in my throat. _“Franklin… Are you…”_

__I close my eyes._ _


End file.
